


Come Live With Me and Be My Love

by hellostarlight20



Series: We Are Never Alone [9]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: But there's also romance, Christmas, F/M, Love, Pregnancy Talk, Romance, Talk of starting a family, Talking, nsfw parts, planning, there's definitely smutty parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They rushed back into things with each other, but now Rose and the Doctor are taking a step back and reevaluating their future. (Happy fluff with sightings of Possessive!Doctor and definite NSFW sexiness, as well as a (very) little Jack and Martha.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, really NSFW—sorry for the Possessive!Doctor and naughtiness it just happened. When I say NSFW I mean serious BDSM themes but done in a loving and caring way. If you want to skip this chapter, please do so after the first part, Rose's letter to the Doctor. (No, I’m really not sorry and I hope you enjoy!)  
> Come live with me and be my Love,  
> And we will all the pleasures prove  
> That hills and valleys, dale and field,  
> And all the craggy mountains yield.  
>  _The Passionate Shepherd to His Love_ ~by Christopher Marlowe

_Dear Doctor,_

_I’m embarrassed to say it took forever to figure out how to address this to you. My love? My Darling? All seem very overly dramatic and not at all the way I want you to see this. I want you to remember us. Not a greeting._

_I’m sure I’ll get better with time. I’ve decided to start a journal of sorts. When we were in Broad Oak, Martha kept a journal about my medical condition and it gave me the idea. We have a long life ahead of us and I don’t want to forget a moment of it._

_I know you continue to journal, I’ve seen the leather bound books in the library, but haven’t told you I know what they are. They’re yours and private, and I don’t want to intrude. Maybe one day you’ll share them without me forcing you to talk, but until then I’ll let you have your privacy._

_I’m not sure how often I’ll write in this, I’ve never been very good at journaling, it never really appealed to me. Photograph? Sure, we have loads of albums with descriptions on the various places we’ve been together. But I wanted to write my thoughts down while they’re fresh._

_Let’s see, where are we? It’s been months since we dropped Martha and Jack in Cardiff, though I know we’re not in their timeline any more so it’s probably only a few weeks for them. Sarah called; Luke’s birthday party is soon, though I suppose it could be tomorrow for us. Or next month._

_I’ll make sure to note the date so we don’t miss it. It’ll be nice to see everyone again. But not yet. I’m not ready to be around everyone else yet. I love them all, and I miss Martha and Jack so much, but when it’s just the two of us, love…when it’s you and me and the TARDIS and we’re exploring or running or making love beneath a new sky, I love those days the best._

_You’re singing now, What We Do by that singer, what’s her name from the 24th century. The one who flirted with you and tried to seduce you backstage. Natasha, Natalia, Nan...something. I still remember how your ears reddened and you blustered your way out of it. You’re so adorable when you’re flustered, though I prefer doing the flustering myself._

_Maybe I’ll seduce you now. Bring you back to bed and forget birthday parties and friends and everything but us for a bit._

_I love you. Always._

****  
“Rose.”

The whispered word against her belly sent warm tendrils of want through her. The edges of sleep clouded her mind and made his words fuzzy. Rose shifted, one hand tangling through his hair. “Hmm,” she hummed and widened her legs for him to settle between.

“Rose,” he said again, teeth nipping her nipple just enough to send a jolt of need bright enough to banish the haze of sleep.

“Yes,” she breathed and arched into him.

This was the absolute best way to wake up. Aroused, already begging for him—his fingers and mouth and body on hers, in hers—Rose moaned in disappointment when the Doctor moved again. Taking his skin, his touch, his tempting fingers and delicious body with him.

“Stand up,” he ordered smoothly. 

Still half-asleep, body slick with clawing arousal, Rose opened her eyes. His were dark and focused and she shuddered at the look, another bolt of electric need hitting her. Making her blood sing and yearn. He held out his hand, took hers, and guided her to stand before their bed.

“Doctor,” she breathed and stood perfectly still.

Half asleep or not, she knew this game. Love it. _Craved it._ Rose shivered and stood there, hands at her sides, body pliant to his touch.

The nipple clamps they’d recently picked up on an outlying human colony in the 43rd century already waited for her; silver chained with red crystals they lay innocuously on the coverlet. She licked her lips and eyed them hungrily. Before the Doctor—before Broad Oak and the human him John Harkness—Rose never would’ve thought she wanted to be dominated.

Never thought she’d enjoy the bite of pain with the pleasure the Doctor so easily offered.

Rose shivered again. Her nipples, already hard from his fingers and teeth, ached to feel the clamps around them. She bowed her head in a gentle sign of her submission as she awaited his pleasure. With easy, practiced, loving movements, the Doctor guided her arms up and clasped the thick, very soft, leather cuffs—another fairly recent purchase—around each wrist.

“All right?” he asked. His hands slid down her body, a feather light touch against her skin, fingers teasing the sides of her breasts.

“Yes,” she agreed, wiggling her fingers.

Today wasn’t the first time they’d done this and both knew exactly how their play worked. The cuffs hung from the domed ceiling of their bedroom at exactly the right height for her in bare feet with enough give so there was minimal strain. He never kept her standing, arms over her head, for longer than she was safe or comfortable.

And of course she knew her safe word.

Rose stood there, silent and waiting, eyes straight ahead though she longed to see her lover. Her skin burned for his touch, her mouth for his kiss, her body to feel his filling her. She’d barely caught a glimpse of him as he led her around their bed, a glimpse of his pale muscles, his already straining cock.

She heard him behind her, his bare feet soft on the plush carpeting, the faintness of his breathing.

Anticipation. He built it expertly and it thrummed through her with every beat of her heart. Throbbed between her legs and clit. Rose wanted to rub her thighs together, but knew the momentary relief she’d experience was not worth the punishment she’d receive.

She’s learned that the hard way, one delicious day when the Doctor had spent hours keeping her on edge until she learned her lesson—her orgasms belonged to him. So no, she didn’t move, though each cell of her body begged for release. And it was so early in their play, too.

He knew exactly what he was doing when he aroused her before fully waking her.

The Doctor’s hands settled lightly on her waist and he turned her to face him. Her hip bumped the bed but there was enough give on the leather cuffs for her to easily twist her arms and turn.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low in the dimness of their bedroom.

“Yes, Doctor,” she whispered as she raised her eyes to his.

Eyes so dark as to be nearly black, he watched her for a long, long moment. His fingers traced familiar circles and patterns over her hips. When he kissed her, his mouth was soft; gentle and tasting and a leisure exploration. Rose sighed and melted into the kiss, bond sparking to brilliant life and enveloping her in love and want and lover-husband-mate.

He broke the kiss and lowered his mouth to her breasts. He lifted them in his cool hands and pressed a kiss to each hard nipple. Rose whimpered, deep in the back of her throat, but stayed still. He hummed in approval and quickly slipped the clamps around her nipples.

“Yes, Doctor,” she breathed or moaned or implored as each jeweled clamp tightened around her nipple and shot hot, sharp need through her.

The clamps were just the right side of painful. Though Rose knew her nipples would be overly sensitive after, right then all she felt was the coiling tension of orgasm tightening through her. It throbbed and pulsed through her. Her blood rushed with it and begged for it and deep in her it curled higher and tighter, heightening every light touch of the Doctor’s hands on her body.

“All right?” he asked, mouth pressed to the side of hers.

Her clit throbbed desperately. Her core clenched around emptiness. Her nipples ached and yet begged for more.

Rose nodded. “Yes, Doctor.” 

He nodded and turned her to once more face the bed. He spread her legs, long cool fingers brushing her slick sex and she whimpered but otherwise remained quiet.

“Be good,” he admonished, and the hint of steel in his voice sent another bolt of electricity through her.

The promise inherent in his tone, his words, crackling in the air. Rose nodded, stripped bare before him in more ways than simple nakedness.

“Yes, Doctor.”

He ran a hand down her spine, over the curve of her arse, around her hips and down again, light flicks of his fingers over her clit. Rose tried not to jerk into his touch, not this early, but all she felt was desperate need clawing-piercing-tearing through her and she wanted all of it.

The first strike of his palm on her arse almost made her come right there.

But she’d been well trained and though each smack brought her closer to the edge of orgasm, the thrumming tension coiled so tightly through her sex, her belly, she didn’t disobey him. She stood there, stayed still, hips pressed against the bed at all the wrong height for release, arms above her head, legs spread wide to his view.

Again and again, each smack sent a jolt of pain but pooling wetness, too. Each smack sent another of the coils tightening through her higher until she sobbed, begging for release.

“More, Doctor,” she gasped, desperate and wet and aching. Skin on fire, clit throbbing, core clenching in a frantic need of relief, she wanted.

 _More, more more. Please more. I love you. Make me come. I need more—I need you._ Did she say that aloud?

Rose gasped for breath and didn’t care. She’d beg. Beg for more—for his palm on her arse and the backs of her thighs, for the feather-light touch of his fingers over her aching, clamped nipples, for the press of his body against hers.

“Rose.” The word sounded guttural and harsh in her ear.

“Yes, Doctor,” she sobbed. “Yes. Yes. More, Doctor.”

Rose tried to shake her hair out of her face; she’d forgotten to pull it back and the Doctor, usually so thoughtful on little things like that, had as well.

But then his hands, light and loving on her cheeks and temple, smoothed the hair off her sweaty face. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, lips against her neck. “I’m sorry, my hearts. Let me tie it back.”

With deft fingers he did so. The few moments he had stopped touching her, moved away from her to grab one of her hair ties, felt more like an agonized eternity to Rose. She craved his touch, his hand in hers, his body against hers; everything from innocent hugs to this, this delicious need for control and domination and her waiting-supplicant- pleading.

His hand, still cool even after her spanking, caressed her flaming arse. Rose gasped and arched into his touch; the movement sent the nipple clamp chain swinging once again and tugged on her already hypersensitive nipples.

“Please, Doctor,” she gasped.

“Sensitive?” he asked, voice like silk over her skin. He moved behind her, hard body pressed to hers. His cock, so deliciously thick and hard settled in the cleft of her arse. Rose clenched her fingers around the cuffs and did not move.

She licked her lips, hungry for his cock—his touch and dominance and the power he had over her body while she stood before him, open and bare and all his.

The Doctor gently unclasped the clamps, his long fingers tracing her areolas just touching her nipples. Rose whimpered. Or begged. Both. He knew how sensitive her nipples were after being released.

He also knew how much she liked his touch after, his cool fingers sent licking fire that had Rose entreating in a constant litany. _Please. Please. Doctor Please._ Her control teetered by a thread and she arched back into him, his name tumbling off her lips.

“You’re mine, Rose.” His mouth kissed across her shoulders and she whimpered again. Each caress sent a firestorm through her. Rose bucked against the bed, once, then held still.

“Yes, Doctor.”

His fingers ghosted up her back, across her shoulders and down her arms. His cock nestled in the curve of her arse and he cupped her breasts from behind. The move had Rose sobbing—more and need and please—even as she arched back against him. His thumbs brushed with the gentlest of strokes over nipples that ached for more even as her nerves fired almost too painfully at his touch.

Almost.

“Yes, Doctor,” she said again. Sobbed, unable to help herself when she pressed back, rolled her hips against his hardness. “Please, Doctor. My Doctor.”

Her breath caught and she ached-longed-craved his touch, his cock in her, his fingers. Anything. Everything. All of him. Need beat wildly through her, hot and fast and what did it matter if she begged. She wanted her lover’s touch and she wanted the blissful release of orgasm only he could give.

His fingers ghosted over her clit, light and nimble and not enough. He knew what he did to her, knew the clawing need that burned through her. And still he teased her.

_Please-yes-more. Now, Doctor, now, please, please, please yes, yes, yes._

His teeth nipped her shoulder, his fingers dug into her hips and still it wasn’t enough. Never enough. Her thighs burned wherever he touched her and still Rose wanted more.

Suddenly, or maybe not, Rose had no idea, all she knew was the Doctor’s touch—his hands on her hips, her sensitive breasts, her throbbing arse. His fingers teasing her slickness just enough, dipping into her wetness before pulling back. His body pressed to hers.

He flicked the clasp around the cuffs and released her.

Before Rose could do more than draw breath, he spun her round and lifted her to the edge of the bed. Every inch of her ached and wanted, but when the Doctor pulled her against him, sensitive nipples just brushing his chest and hot, flaming arse cupped in his hands, Rose didn’t care.

“Come for me, my hearts.” And in one hard thrust he entered her. Filled her. Claimed her.

Rose screamed his name, his true name. The musical sound fell hoarsely from her lips. Her orgasm crashed hard through her in blues and silvers and reds and golds and _Doctor_. Her nails dug into his shoulders. She might’ve drawn blood.

He pulled out until only the tip of his cock remained the slammed back into her. Her orgasm wound tighter again. Or maybe it continued, one wave crashing into another. And again and again, into another and another. The Doctor’s hands tightened on her and she arched into him. His thrusts grew harder still and she wanted more. Wrapped her arms and legs and love around him tighter and tighter.

“Again,” he ordered and Rose knew what he meant.

She slipped one hand between them and rubbed her clit—overly sensitive and aching and still she wanted more. It burned like a hungry flame bent on consuming her.

Her orgasm rushed through her and her hips jerked against his.

“Again,” he ordered.

Rose sobbed but the pleasure was so intense and so powerful, so very addicting, she kept her fingers on her clit and sobbed-screamed-begged-and came. Hard again and again and the Doctor’s thrusts grew even more erratic and still she came, clenching her walls around him, drawing him deeper and more.

Please more.

“My Doctor,” Rose whispered, the words broken on gasped breath and shuddering body and pleasure that never stopped. And finally he let go.

Shuddered against her, breath heaving even with his advanced systems, face pressed into the crook of her neck and he came hard, filling her with his seed and his love and Rose held him close.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After sex talk, family, future, them. Please note: it's not necessary to read the sex in the previous chapter for this chapter, but there was a purpose to it besides the smut. :) However, if it's not your thing I completely understand and would never force anyone to read anything they didn't want to!

Rose didn’t remember moving. She didn’t remember the Doctor slipping out of her. She didn’t remember him gently picking her up and carrying her around the bed or placing her beneath the covers. She was boneless and limp and languid and her fingers tingled with the aftershocks of her orgasms.

Rose hummed and shifted against the Doctor’s naked body sliding one leg against his. Her marriage pendant lay cool against her sweaty skin. Time spun out and she let it, here with her husband.

Every muscle felt liquid and her orgasm still pulsed through her blood, sparked along her skin, deep inside her. She shifted so her tender nipples didn’t press hard to his chest, though with every brush against his skin Rose wanted him again.

The Doctor hummed in the back of his throat, happy and content. His fingers tangled in her hair, palm large and cool against the nape of her neck. He held her close, though his fingers were gentle on her skin, as they combed through her hair.

Rose wondered what demons possessed him during the night. What had caused his dominant side to rear up and take control. It wasn’t often it happened, wasn’t often the Doctor gave into those demons. He rarely talked of them after, refused to, but Rose thought (hoped-believed) she was drawing him out more.

She shivered and he drew her closer, rubbed his hand over her back, pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Cold?”

“No,” she said honestly and looked up at him. Rose ran her fingers through his hair and bit her lip. “What did you dream?”

The Doctor’s hand tightened on her hip, his body still beneath hers for a fraction of a beat. His eyes slid away only to instantly return and seek hers. “Nothing important.”

“Doctor,” she sighed. Rose combed her fingers through his hair again. “Don’t lie to me.” Her voice remained soft; she was too liquid for anger, though with his latest denial it bubbled just beneath the surface, annoyed with his evasiveness. “What did you dream last night?”

“You.” He swallowed hard. His hand fisted in his hair for a moment then caught hers and held tight.

“I dreamed you were gone. Still on the other side. Lost—” his voice cracked. He cleared it and when he spoke again it was harsh and bleak, desolate words in the space between them.

“I had the dream every night from the day I lost you until the day you found me again,” he admitted.

His beautiful brown eyes looked old, Rose thought. Old and scarred and scared and heavy with grief. They never talked about that time, not really. Not as they should’ve at least. No, they’d done what they did best.

Held onto each other and ran and laughed and never looked back.

“Tell me.” Rose barely recognized her own it was so thick with heartache.

The Doctor shook his head. Just when Rose thought he’d brush it off again, he spoke. His voice was low and distant. Not, she realized with a start, because he didn’t want to tell her. Because the memory, the dream, consumed him.

“I—I’m alone. I’m alone and I know I am because it _hurts_. There’s this burning-aching-tearing feeling clawing through me and I _know_ you’re gone and I _know_ I’m alone and nothing, _nothing_ helps. I don’t want to wake because when I’m asleep, when I dream, it’s about you.” He dragged his gaze from where he stared into the distance and met hers. “It’s about us.”

Tears closed her throat and Rose squeezed his hand. She had no words though she knew exactly how he felt. What that burning emptiness felt like as it was about to engulf her.

“I just needed to know you were with me,” he admitted in a voice so low she almost missed it. “I needed to know these last months weren’t a dream.”

Rose shifted until she lay over him and she didn’t care how sensitive her body felt, he needed this contact. They both did. Cupping his face, she pressed her fingers softly into his temples and poured all her love through their bond.

Swallowing past the lump of emotion and pain and need and love, she pressed her lips to his. “I know. But however it happened, whatever aligned to put me in exactly the right place on my first jump, I’m not sorry. I refuse to examine it too closely because it did work and I found you again.”

She stopped and drew in a deep breath. “Did you have this dream after I came back?”

“No.” He tightened his arms around her. “Not really.”

“What brought this on, then?”

But Rose thought she knew—it’d been months since her return, a year or more probably given their time in 1969 and 1936 and simply drifting in the Vortex, together. Holding on and never looking back and just being together.

“Things are going so well,” he admitted and all Rose could do was nod. 

“Yeah,” she agreed and rested her head on his chest. “I know.”

“It means nothing, Rose,” he said quickly, the words firm and unshakable and rumbled beneath her ear in time to his pounding hearts. She heard the same assertion here as she had oh so long ago when the beast had spoken. “I don’t care about stars or holes between universes, I can’t—”

He broke off and drew a shuddering breath but when she raised her head, his eyes were hot and focused and full of love and terror and need. Lips pressed into a hard line, dimples stark on his pale, freckled cheeks, his belief in her, his love for her, his consuming passion flooded their bond and warmed her from the inside out.

“I swear I’m never letting you go again.” And the inherent promise in that vow shuddered through her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rose promised and held his gaze. “We’ll fight whatever happens together.”

He opened his mouth as if to protest, but she shook her head. “ _Together_ , Doctor. We’re partners in this life of ours. Yeah?”

Very slowly, the Doctor nodded. “Yeah,” he repeated, more a breath than anything.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she repeated and kissed him again. “You’re stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he agreed and tucked her head beneath his chin. He settled her more comfortably against him and Rose slipped her leg over his and closed her eyes.

“I love you, my hearts,” he whispered. “Always.”

“I love you, too, My Doctor.”

She fell into an exhausted sleep, then, warm and cocooned in the Doctor’s arms. Rose had no idea how long she slept; when she woke she was starved but didn’t want to bother to go to the kitchen. And she should probably shower, but again, it wasn’t a top priority. Or anywhere near the top 5 on a _List of Things to do on a Lazy Morning with My Husband._

Though a lazy bath together might not be a bad idea.

Husband.

Would she ever get used to that? To the fact that they’d somehow managed to overcome separate universes, the Void, and both their lingering fears to marry? She ran her fingers over the dusting of hair on the Doctor’s chest and amended that—most of their fears.

Still, Rose would’ve been all right without the ceremony, it had never mattered to her. But since then the deeper connection she felt with the Doctor, the intensifying of their bond, the marriage tattoos even, all made her feel closer, she supposed, with him. More in tune, attuned.

Almost as if they might actually have that forever in their grasp.

Rose hummed and pressed her lips to his chest, nipping lightly at his nipple. She reinforced her mental note to finish her first series of letters to the Doctor. She still wasn’t certain about continuing them, but at the moment they felt right.

Also, a video recorder of some sort. Maybe talk to Jack about a futuristic one. She had no real idea in mind about what she wanted, simply something to record their life. From the little joys they shared together to adventures with family to their children.

Preferably one compatible with the TARDIS and with unlimited memory.

Right now, she put all that to one side and traced his name over his chest, careful with the circles and lines and whirls. Her tongue was caught between her teeth, eyes slightly narrowed in concentration. _The Doctor_ was easy enough, relatively speaking given the way Gallifreyan was written.

His ‘real’ name required more attentiveness.

She’d spent a lot of time staring at his marriage tattoos, a lot of time tracing and memorizing the loops and swirls that made up her lover’s name.

“Other—”

She caught her mistake immediately and instantly changed directions before he had the chance to correct her. He made that contented hum in the back of his throat again, but otherwise didn’t move. Rose smiled, pleased with her progress at recognizing the intricate symbols. And with the happy buzzing through their link.

“Can you teach me?” she asked, voice low in the intimacy of their bedroom. “Can you teach me Gallifreyan?”

She’d never asked before. She’d always been curious; it was his language and she wanted to know all she could about him—past, language, friends, name, anything. Everything. But she’d realized early on that all of that was private and intensely important to him.

Rose hadn’t wanted to pry, and at first hadn’t been confident around a man so intense, so powerful, so magnetic as the Doctor to even ask. And then, after Downing Street when things started to change between them, Rose had focused more on their developing relationship than on his past. But since their separation, she’d changed. No longer did she keep quiet.

Their time together was too precious to stay quiet over anything. Even, _especially_ the things neither wanted to talk about.

If he said no, then he said no. But she had to offer, as much for herself as for him and for any future their marriage had of remaining on solid, equal footing.

Even before she made her first dimension jump and ended up finding the Doctor (and Martha, and Jack) in 1930 New York, she’d promised herself that (when-if-please let this work) she found him, they wouldn’t fall back on their usual avoidance tactics. Or her prying information out of him—sharing was a two-way street and she’d be damned if she relapsed into letting him close himself off.

Or the Doctor dropping really big bombs at her feet in the middle of a crisis _(I was a dad once)_ instead of bringing it up privately where they could actually talk about it. And where _she_ wasn’t responsible for bringing it up later, after they’d saved the day and then prying more information out of him.

That conversation had turned out all right. _(My first companion was my granddaughter, Susan…)_ And for the first time since Kyoto, it’d led to them discussing the possibility of their own children instead of dancing around the topic of their future and what it might hold.

She’d promised herself that she’d tell him she loved him every day. ( _How long are you going to stay with me?_ He’d asked as if the answer hadn’t been there between them always. _Forever._ She’d replied aloud, the vow she told him every time they made love.) Their relationship was so much more than words, it was trust and companionship and faith-belief-hope.

But the Doctor had changed, too. Now he told her every day he loved her. And not just in the little ways he always had with touches and smiles and her hand in his. He’d always walked slower next to her, measuring his gait to match hers. Or he’d let her have the last piece of caramel. Or he’d gather her close and simply hold her.

Since her return, he actually told her, daily, that he loved her. That he didn’t know how to live without her. That he never wanted to let her go.

Their relationship had evolved so much since her return. It emboldened her, terrified her sure, but made her feel powerful and strong. As if the two of them now stood on solid ground—together. Hand-in-hand. As if what they had really could last forever.

“This is Circular Gallifreyan.” The Doctor drew a symbol on her back, his long fingers cool against her skin. 

Rose didn’t know what the symbol/word was, but she recognized it. Since the first time they’d made love, after Jack joined them but before Mickey and Cardiff, the Doctor drew that symbol on her skin. At first she thought it was her name, but the angles and circles didn’t feel like what was now linked on their tattoos.

“It’s very complicated—involves a high level of quantum mathematics and knowledge of time,” he said, still tracing symbols on her back. “I can teach you the basics, but it’s like translating a non-Romance language into English. There’s always something lost in translation.”

“So this doesn’t really say Rose?” She asked and lifted her head to grin at him. His eyes were closed, and he looked so relaxed, so at peace, she wanted to keep him there forever.

The Doctor chuckled. “No, it does—our names at least. But Time Lords speak in multiple dimensions; there are…” he let out a breath and smiled, opening his eyes. “So many more tenses than you lot have in English.” 

His fingers traced symbols Rose almost recognized on her back. “Then there’s Old High Gallifreyan. Old High Gallifreyan is more letters than these mathematically calculated symbols. Easier to learn.”

She leaned on her folded arms and watched him. His eyes were half-open, now, hearts beating evenly. Their telepathic bond buzzed warm and pleasant in the back of her mind, not quite fully open as it was when they made love, but a constant Doctor-presence that never left her.

She took a deep breath and grinned. “I’d like that,” Rose whispered. “Not the mathematical one, not yet. Maybe in the future, we can work on the basics like names and such. But I’d like to know your language.”

She paused and pressed her lips to his chest, right between his hearts. Looking up at him, she waited until he met her gaze. She didn’t know how to phrase her next question, but now was as good a time as any to reopen the topic.

They’d been careful since leaving Broad Oak, careful to take what precautions they could. Mostly on the Doctor’s end, since he wasn’t sure what human birth control, even advanced futuristic birth control, would have on her altered body.

They wanted to be ready. Together. Lying here with him now, Rose thought maybe they hovered on the cusp, ready to make that final leap and conceive a child. Their child.

Or maybe they should just leap, stop using what few precautions they were using and see what happened. Take a chance.

“You…you said our children would be more than 80% Gallifreyan—Time Lord,” she corrected, still a little unsure what the difference was.

Rose had patiently listened to the rambling explanation. _“Regeneration was granted not inherent, and very few were given another series, but I’m certain, well fairly certain, well 82.379% certain, Rose, that our children will have regeneration capabilities. But no Time Lord has had a child this way—the old fashioned way.”_ And he’d wiggled his eyebrows at her, making her giggle. _“In millennia.”_

Which caused him to go into the Pythia’s Curse and the creation of Looms.

Which continued to surprise her, since Rose hadn’t thought he (or Time Lords, for that matter) believed in curses or superstitious nonsense. Then again, curses were simply the application of specific scientific values and words.

Now, the Doctor nodded, silent and waiting, but she felt his interest awaken, a different sort of buzz in the back of her mind. Almost as if she could hear his thoughts, as if she closed her eyes and concentrated their entire conversation could be telepathic not verbal.

“Will they be able to understand Circular Gallifreyan?”

“Yes.” His voice was thick with emotion, eyes dark with that knowledge.

Rose nodded, pleased. A little jealous, but mostly relieved—their children would be enough Time Lord and have an innate Time Sense and all the other multiple senses he had to understand things the Doctor thought would die with him.

Rose licked her lips and smiled. She cupped his cheek and pressed her lips to his, soft and tender. “Good.”

If their children were able to learn and understand both forms of Gallifreyan, then she wanted to be able to understand at least one. For herself as well as the Doctor and their future children.

“I’d like to learn,” she repeated. “I’d like to learn Old High Gallifreyan.”

The Doctor’s breath caught and he hauled her against him, his mouth hard and possessive. But Rose tasted his gratitude, his acknowledgement of her offer, her request. His overwhelming love. When he pulled back, eyes still bright with emotion and happiness and maybe even a sheen of tears, he nodded.

“Of course, Rose. Anything.”

“And,” she added with a soft smile, “I’d like to have a baby.”

His grin widened, his breath caught. His hand tightened on her upper arms and a warm joy flooded their bond. “Rose,” he said in that way that told her ever single emotion he felt for her with one single word. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she said and it felt so right, so sure, how could she not be?

“Anything,” he repeated, pulling her back to him and once more tucking her head beneath his chin. A shudder ran through him and his hold tightened on her. “Anything, my hearts.”

Resting her head back on his chest, she wrapped her arms tight around him and let herself drift off. His hearts beat beneath her ear and his touch was a soothing coolness along her back; her muscles pulled pleasantly after their play, and Rose was utterly content to stay just like this for the rest of the day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice little jaunt onto a nice little planet. Oh, you have a small technological problem? We can help! Only not…

“Come on,” Rose mumbled, then cursed, using one of the words she’d learned in the week the Doctor had been teaching her Old High Gallifreyan.

She would’ve proud of herself, she was certain she pronounced it perfectly. Except she was currently tied to a chair.

Rose twisted her already raw wrists against the ropes. She’d been tied up before, and not in the pleasant Doctor way she enjoyed. Ropes seemed to be similar the universes over. Harsh on the skin and impossible to undo when both hands were tied, rather securely, to a chair.

Unfortunately, her dexterity wasn’t nearly good enough to use her feet to undo the ropes. Maybe they should seriously consider training Winston on rescues and then remember to bring him along.

In the back of her mind, along their bond, she felt the Doctor’s rage and tried to remain calm. The last thing she needed was for him to lose what little control he retained and go completely berserk on the Rokenban people.

She squinted into the dark hallway and tried to see…well, anything. A hint of torchlight or better, the sonic. At this point, a brave soul daring enough to do the right thing and let her go would be fantastic.

“And things had been going so well, too,” she muttered, still working her wrists.

Except they hurt. She was only a couple twists away from bleeding.

“Stupid superstitious people. Where did they think their Gratellice came from?” she continued to mutter.

Stopping herself, Rose took a deep breath and closed her eyes. People always invented superstitions around things they didn’t understand—she knew that. But today was not the day to blithely accept said superstitions.

She stopped trying to loosen the ropes and tried to relax.

The Doctor’s anger built throbbed along their link, a forceful, palpable thing. Rose tried to send him reassuring thoughts; tried to relax enough to connect with him on that extra level where they almost, _almost_ , were able to speak telepathically.

She wasn’t hurt, and they did say they’d release her as soon as the Doctor fixed their little (all right— _big_ ) computer. Still, Rose didn’t like being tied up.

By anyone except the Doctor, of course.

And the Doctor didn’t like being separated from her. Really didn’t like being separated. She understood that, didn’t like being separated from him, either.

Rose concentrated on her breathing. She used every Omicron Yoga method she and Martha had ever studied. Letting her mind wander, Rose decided she needed to take up yoga again. She’d let it fall to the wayside since Martha left the TARDIS.

Of course, Rose didn’t think it’d help her get out of the ropes, but anything that helped her flexibility (not that the Doctor complained) and meditation, she needed to consistently work on.

Taking a deep breath, Rose tried not to think about the mustiness of the cavern or the deafening silence or the faint tang of her own blood. Once more she stilled her wrists and concentrated.

Wetting her lips, and refusing to think about a drink—how long had it been since the guards had ‘escorted’ her into this dank room anyway?—Rose followed the tendrils of their bond. Wove each thread into one stronger and stronger until she could read the Doctor.

Their bond burned hotly and she felt the Doctor’s anger and tenacity and outright refusal to do anything until they brought her back to him. He was being stubborn, not that Rose really blamed him. Still, they had promised to release her once the Doctor fixed the machine.

Then again, he’d promised to fix the machine _before_ they decided they needed insurance and had dragged her off to this lovely little spot.

The Rokenbans logic—or clear lack of—baffled Rose. What were they so afraid of? Her? Him? Females in general? Holding hands? She really had no idea.

“I just want to go home,” Rose muttered aloud.

She tried to convey that to the Doctor—maybe give him a little boost to fix the stupid computer or talk them round and round until they simply gave up. That had happened, too. The Doctor talking until he either confused his opponents into giving up or they saw things his way.

Rose doubted her success. He was too angry and afraid. And an angry and afraid Doctor did not bode well for those he was angry and afraid with.

What had started as a nice little trip to a beautiful planet had turned out to be anything but.

Hot silver mercury flashed in time to the beating of his hearts and she tried again to sooth him enough to finish whatever he needed to do to the damn computer. _I’m fine_ , she thought to him, _I’m unharmed and fine. Just miss you._

Rose didn’t know if he understood what she tried to convey or if one of the Rokenbans had finally realized the Doctor worked far better (or worked at all) with Rose with him than as a captive, but she suddenly felt a wash of cool blue.

Not calm, not pleased. Coldly calculating.

“I’m to take you to the most esteemed Doctor,” a voice said, snapping Rose from her meditation.

Her eyes shot open and the thin man of about average Rokenban height crouched by the arms of the chair. He didn’t look up at her as he hastily cut the ropes. Rose rubbed her wrists, which ached horribly. They had also started to bleed.

She glared at the man, angry, thirsty, and she desperately needed the loo. But when he stood from where he sawed the ropes along her legs, all eagerness, she reluctantly nodded her thanks. He immediately averted his gaze back to the floor.

Rose frowned but dismissed the man’s oddness. She had to find the Doctor.

Standing, she gave her blood a moment to rush through stiff legs before she glared at the man, who seemed far more cowardly than the Guardians they’d originally met. Once more he lowered his gaze to the floor and gestured before him. Head high, Rose walked out of her damp little cavern.

It wasn’t far from the cavern to the main control room where the Doctor waited. Blue converse on the table, brown pinstripe jacket open to reveal the blue Henley he wore today, he whirled the sonic through his fingers as he leaned a chair on its two rear legs. The Doctor looked the epitome of relaxed boredom.

Rose knew better.

His eyes were hard and flat and his hair stuck up at even odder ends than normal. A sure sign he’d run his hand through it more than once. His mouth was pressed flat, dimples hard indents against his cheeks.

The instant they entered the Doctor sat up, feet thudding to the ground, gaze focused directly on her wrists, though she tried to cover them with her jacket. His brown eyes blazed with anger and annoyance and righteous indignation. Jaw clenched, his dimples stood out in stark relief.

He looked pale, his freckles harsh in the artificial light. Rose wanted to reach up and sooth the anger from him; ease the lines bracketing his mouth, knotting his shoulders, thundering along their bond. She wanted to hold him and remind him she was alive—they both were.

And together.

He wrapped her in his arms and hugged her tight. Rose breathed in his scent and let it wash away the clinging mustiness of that cavern.

“I’m all right,” she whispered and pulled back, threading her fingers with his.

He seemed to relax at the touch, squeezing her hand tightly. But he vibrated with suppressed rage.

“I told you I’d help you if she was returned unharmed,” he snapped. His fingers brushed the air over her raw wrists. “You hurt her.”

“We did not,” her escort said, rather flustered. “She is unharmed.”

The Doctor took an angry step closer. “I offered my _cooperation_ ,” he hissed.

His fingers tightened even further around her hand then slipped away. He tightened his grip on the sonic and when he spoke it was with deadly evenness. “I willingly offered my cooperation on fixing your bloody machine but you refused.”

“Why?” Rose injected before the Doctor exploded. He hovered on the brink now.

He’d been fascinated with the machine when they’d arrived—babbling a mile a minute about the beautiful construct as he examined it and theorized a dozen different ways as to what happened to it and how to fix it. Talking to the Guardians about its history and who had originally built it.

Rose wasn’t sure what changed from the polite, if slightly confused, manner of the green-robbed Guardians but suddenly she was hauled off as they threatened the Doctor: help them in exchange for her.

“Why what?” the escort asked, still flustered.

“Why did you hold me in that room?” she clarified, irritated. She thought it was a pretty self-explanatory question. But then she took a deep breath and tried to remember this man wasn’t one of the guards, or Guardians, who’d first taken her.

She didn’t know who he was or what part he played here. Or, for that matter, where everyone else had disappeared to.

The man swallowed, clearly terrified. “We…we…”

“We’re leaving,” the Doctor declared. He tugged Rose’s hand and started out of the room.

“But you promised!” The man shouted.

“No,” the Doctor snapped and turned to face the man.

Where was everyone else? Rose looked around but other than she, the Doctor, and the nameless Rokenban, the control room appeared empty. This man didn’t wear the markings of one of the Guardians; no green robes or black sash. He dressed as normally as Rose’d seen the other Rokenbans on their stroll through the city.

Where had the other Guardians gone? There’d been five when they’d arrived—three Guardians and two brown-robbed guards. Now only this man remained and he certainly didn’t seem to have the confidence of the Guardians who’d greeted them.

Or the weapons of the guards.

“I promised before you took Rose from me,” the Doctor said in a low, furious voice that echoed off the walls. “I promised before you tied her up until her wrists were _raw_. I promised before you threatened _my wife!_ ”

Torn, Rose remained silent. She didn’t know what the lack of their computer would do to the Rokenbans and frankly wasn’t feeling too charitable toward them. On the other hand, they had promised and she didn’t want to be responsible for the cataclysmic destruction of Rokenban.

“What does the computer do?” she asked softly.

“Maintains optimal atmospheric conditions,” the Doctor said and turned to her. “They can learn to live without it. Learn to deal with the weather this planet has.”

“But we’ll die!” the man cried.

“No you won’t,” the Doctor snapped. The words shot from him like a bullet, effectively cutting off whatever else the other man had to say. “You’ll live on the planet as it was meant to be. And maybe next time you’ll listen when someone offers their help instead of threatening them for the very help they offered!”

“Doctor.” Rose squeezed his hand and waited until he looked at her.

For a fanciful moment Rose thought she saw the swirling of the universe in his gaze. But no. That was merely his temper and their bond overlapping in her mind.

And fear. Such stark fear she was amazed no one else picked up on it. Rose ran her thumb over the backs of his knuckles and squeezed, sending all her love and understanding through their bond.

“What’s your name?” she asked the man.

“J’or’as’n,” he stammered.

“Where are the Guardians?” Rose addressed the question to both J’or’as’n and the Doctor.

J’or’as’n shifted awkwardly, gaze flicking from her to the ground then up to the Doctor and back to the floor again. Rose looked at the Doctor for an answer. He shifted onto his heels and met her gaze.

“We might have had a small disagreement,” he confessed, still hard and angry and scared.

Rose merely raised an eyebrow. The Doctor huffed out a breath and pressed his lips together. She could tell he wanted to cross his arms or stuff his hands in his pockets, but she didn’t let go of his hand and he refused to release hers.

“The most esteemed Doctor,” J’or’as’n said as if that made all the sense in the world.

When neither man added to that bit of cryptic-ness, Rose prodded, “What about him?”

“When they took you,” the Doctor told her, fingers relaxing around hers just slightly, “I _maaay_ have lost my temper.”

He exaggerated _may_ and his free hand moved up to tug his ear, once, before dropping back to his side.

Rose didn’t need to be told that. Of course he lost his temper. She heard him screaming for her as the guards shoved their little ray guns in her back and ‘escorted’ her to that cavern. It brought back memories both of them would rather forget. 

“And…?”

“The most esteemed Doctor,” J’or’as’n added now, clearly more excited than frightened, “showed us the evil that lurked in the Guardian’s hearts. Their intensions were not pure.”

Rose wanted to joke about the Doctor starting a revolt without her, but knew this went deeper than that. Deeper than his fear of losing her yes, but deeper than the evil in men’s hearts and impure intentions.

“You said the machine controls the atmosphere?” she asked. The Doctor nodded. “What is this planet like without it? I mean if they needed an atmospheric controller, then is it uninhabitable?”

“The stories say this was a wild world,” J’or’as’n said slowly as if afraid any more eagerness might set the Doctor off again. “The Ancestors built The Gratellice so we may live here.”

“Why not just find a new world?” Rose asked then immediately waved it off. It didn’t matter. Turning to the Doctor, she rubbed her thumb over the back of his knuckles. “We promised, Doctor.”

“They _took_ you, Rose.” His words were hard and unyielding. “They _hurt_ you.”

She didn’t remind him how she’d been hurt before. Or that she’d been taken before, kidnapped or threatened or possessed even. Rose didn’t need their bond to know the terror that beat through her lover.

She raised her free hand and brushed it through his hair, taming the wild locks just enough. Smiling softly, she whispered, “I’m okay. We promised to help them. Promised to fix their machine. You can tell me about the Guardians and the guards and what J’or’as’n is doing here alone in the control room afterwards.”

The Doctor stared at her as if he could see her soul. Rose let him, opened her mind and their bond and held nothing back. She knew he worried, hated being separated; hated putting her in danger even when there’d been no hint of danger prior to it exploding in front of them. Knew they probably needed to talk about this, too.

Maybe it was time for them to stop running.

Finally he nodded, a short jerk of his head. Thirty minutes of silence later—uncomfortable and uncharacteristic and running like nails on a chalkboard across Rose’s nerves until she shifted and bounced on her heels desperate for the Doctor’s babbling—they left.

He grabbed her hand, ignored J’or’as’n as the other man called out his gratefulness, and they were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I’m Sir Robert, Rose. I’m Sir Robert and I don’t care who or what dies if it means keeping you safe._ What sort of a man would he be without her? NSFW  
>   
> *Quote by Paulo Coelho

The Doctor knew Rose waited.

Waited while they waked through the mostly empty streets of Rokenban; empty now that the Guardians had been overthrown. People had marched on the Capital, several miles away, in a demand for change.

Rose waited as they walked back to where the TARDIS landed. She held his hand in hers as he kept her close, his fingers tight around hers as if that grip prevented her from being torn away from him. Silently she waited while they piloted the ship into the Vortex.

And still silently Rose waited while he led her to the infirmary and mended her wrists.

They’d taken her.

_They’d taken Rose as a hostage to use against him._

He’d already agreed to help and _still_ they’d taken her. Taken her and tied her up and hurt her.

He’d been so close to losing her. Her fingers had slipped from his as the Guardians ordered her held. He’d screamed, argued, fought the guards and tried to run after her, but the guns the guards pointed at her back froze him.

Panic and fear and terror over her safety had been his constant companion (the valiant child will soon die…) especially after her return. It suffocated him and choked him. Threatened to drown him.

Even before, his fears (worry-panic-nightmare) kept them in the TARDIS or exploring places like Cheem or Shallacatop or Pentha Prime.

Places where nothing could harm her. Where no one could take her.

Rokenban should’ve been another such planet. Beautiful and peaceful and calm. Great market places and fantastic foods and just the sort of place for them to spend a day exploring.

And laughing and loving and living life.

Winston leaped onto the table and nuzzled Rose’s palm, his tongue licking the newly healed skin on her wrist. The cat watched him balefully but the Doctor ignored Winston and the judgment in the animal’s eyes. The one that demanded how he could let anything happen to their precious Rose.

Rose ran her hand down Winston’s back and the cat purred, curling up in a small ball utterly contented. And clearly not moving in case his absence cause yet more harm to their Rose.

Still Rose waited. As she gently rubbed between Winston’s ears, her gaze rested on him—watching and waiting. She had unending patience and understanding as he struggled to unclench his jaw and fight down the fear and fury that choked him.

Rose waited as he leaned over the empty counter in the infirmary and tried, God did he try, to release the angry tension churning in his gut and blinding him to everything save Rose. It clawed and raged deep within him, hot and pulsing and waiting, just waiting, to explode.

Explode and take the universe with it.

The Doctor had thought all that tucked away in a deep, blocked off corner of himself—the madness and fury and destroyer of worlds. He’d taken Rose’s love and compassion and understanding and used it to make himself better.  
Without her—he shuddered, a hard wracking movement that engulfed him and left him gasping. _What sort of person would he be without her?_

“What was that all about?” she demanded, but her voice was soft and her hand gentle on the side of his neck.

Winston’s purring came to an abrupt halt as if he, too, awaited the Doctor’s answer. Otherwise the cat didn’t move.

The Doctor knew want to know what sort of man he’d be without her. And the (memory) thought terrified him.

He turned just enough to look at Rose, to see the concern in her brandy-colored gaze and feel her light caress against his skin. He opened his mouth then slammed it closed, trapping the words in his throat. He didn’t know how to explain it. How to tell her what he saw, all he saw. The swirling timelines and the possibilities and the maybes.

And the seconds-too-late time streams that taunted and mocked him constantly.

“I can’t lose you,” he admitted, the words escaping their tight confines.

He pulled her close and buried his face in the crook of her neck and breathed deeply. Home and love and perfection and Rose.

“You won’t,” she promised and held him tight.

But he would. One day—tomorrow or the next day or the next year or in a hundred years—he would lose her. And the Doctor wasn’t certain he’d survive after that.

The memory of their separation still taunted him—the emptiness and the loneliness and the fighting each and every day to live and continue on. Because that was what Rose wanted: for him to survive as she survived in another universe.

To _live_ as she lived.

It hurt.

He’d lost companions before, some he loved more than others, but losing Rose _ached_.

Every day had hurt just moving. Breathing and walking and talking and he’d pretended. Donna had seen it, brave Donna who’d most likely saved him from the death he’d craved. And Martha, Martha had tried.

But with each step he’d taken without Rose, all the Doctor wanted was to fall into the oblivion of inexistence. Maybe then he’d be able to find Rose again. In whatever afterlife there may or may not be, maybe then he’d find her again.

He’d never told her that.

Even now, with words crowding his throat and laying heavy in his heart, the Doctor didn’t know how to tell his lover, his wife, his best friend how close to self-destruction he’d been those long, long months without her.

And now, with her back and in his arms and the two of them together as he’d always dreamed, the Doctor didn’t know how to survive without her.

She took his hand, fingers soft around his, touch so perfect against his skin, and walked backwards out of the infirmary and toward their bedroom. Her eyes never left his as she guided him to the cluster of rooms that made up their home.

Her fingers were careful as she undressed him. Gentle and soft, loving and tender and empathetic, so very empathetic. He needed Rose.

Pulling her against him, he kissed her. Softly. Slowly. His life and his love. Hands cupping her face and brushing her hair off her cheeks. Exploring her mouth, her remembered and loved taste. More. Deeper. His addiction.

Lips and teeth and tongue and she exploded across his senses, across their link. Light and sound and the addictive arousal that was solely her and she wrapped herself around him and kissed him back.

They fell to the bed and the Doctor cradled her against him. Mouth on hers, hands slipping beneath her blouse, aching hardness pressed to her warm, wet softness.

She arched against him, mouth meeting his, legs wrapping around his waist. Rose nipped his lower lip and he snapped. Whatever control he had, however limited, vanished. Disappeared in Rose’s taste and Rose’s touch and Rose’s skin beneath his fingers and Rose’s mouth beneath his.

“Rose,” he growled. Moaned, pleaded, begged, sighed. He kissed down her throat, nipping the tender skin. “Rose.”

She laid beneath him—open and vulnerable, eyes heavy with arousal, bond burning with love and need and everything she was. She gave it all to him. The Doctor quickly stripped them both, mouth trailing over every centimeter of exposed skin.

He needed to feel her skin against his. To run is tongue over her flesh, her scent on his tongue, her arousal all for him.

Taste all she offered to him. All she wanted.

Her nipples were already dusky and hard and her arousal was a glorious perfume in the air. He closed his mouth around one nipple and tugged hard, his teeth closing around the peak, his tongue swirling around it.

“Doctor,” Rose cried, back arched off the bed and hips rocking against his.

“Not yet. Not yet, Rose,” he chanted, tugging her other nipple into his mouth.

He intended to worship her. To recommit every taste and sigh and plea she uttered to his impressive memory. To make her come again and again until she sobbed with the pleasure of it all. To breathe her in.

And hold her close.

Because she was alive and here and they were together. And he had no intentions of wasting one more moment.

His fingers were rough; he knew it but couldn’t ease them away from her. He’d leave bruises and knew he’d be sorry later, but at the moment wanted them. Wanted to mark her. His.

He scraped his teeth over her clit and roughly thrust two fingers into her. Rose cried out, her orgasm hot and fast through her. Tasted the ambrosia of her juices. Her hips bucked against him and she cried out. His true name fell from her lips in a litany of pleas.

She tightened around him and just as she was about to climax again, he withdrew. Rose cried out but bit back anything else. He stood in front of her, cock hard and desperation pounding through him, and looked at his beautiful wife.

Eyes bright with need, her marriage pendant lying against her chest, cheeks flushed, nipples hard and red and hips lightly bruised from his fingers. Her legs opened even wider to him and he could see her wetness. It permeated everything and he drowned in it.

The Doctor licked his lips, her taste momentarily blinding him to all else.

He bent down, eyes on hers, and found his tie. It was one of the swirly patterned ones Rose liked so much. With three quick movements, he repositioned her on the bed, wrapped it around her wrists, and tied them to the headboard.

She trembled, and God was she the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen in any of his lives. Trembling from lust and wet and marked as his and the Doctor felt her flood his mind. The red-gold beauty of her wrapped itself around him and beckoned him and yes.

“I need you, Rose.” The confession ripped from his throat.

He knelt between her legs, fingers brushing her wetness and breathed her in. The Doctor started at her right ankle and kissed his way up one leg to the other. Each kiss drawn out, his tongue tracing their names over the inside of her thigh.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he admitted between each kiss, each touch, each brush of his lips against her skin and each inhalation of her love-need-want of him.

Rose trembled beneath him but he continued worshipping her. Loving her.

“Even before we were lovers,” he continued. “Your hand in mine felt so right, so perfect. I never believed in destiny or fate. Still not sure I do.” He switched legs and nipped behind her knee. Rose shuddered beneath his touch.

“But whatever or whoever or however you ended up in my path that night, I never looked back.” he shuddered out a breath. “I thought I was supposed to live my life alone. My friends came and went but never stayed and I always thought I was meant to walk on alone.”

He skimmed his fingers up her inner thighs, over her hips, up her belly to her breasts. Settling between her legs, the Doctor pressed the underside of his aching cock to her clit and rocked against her, teasing her. Eyes on his, she trembled, chest heaving for breath, hips rocking in perfect rhythm against him.

“But you, my Rose. You stayed.”

“Always,” Rose breathed, and the strength of her love nearly blinded him.

“Your breasts fit so perfectly in my hands,” he said and brushed his thumbs over her nipples. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, my hearts. I don’t think it was anything.”

Because he didn’t deserve her. And he knew he didn’t.

“You deserve more than you think, Doctor.” Rose gasped and arched into his touch, a strangled cry on her lips. “I love you. Even before, before your regeneration, I loved you.”

His breath caught and her confession bloomed warm and complete though him. The Doctor breathed in a ragged breath and pressed his lips to hers. _Forever_ , indeed. No matter what, he’d love her forever. His forever. Her forever. Their forever.

“You’re so soft, Rose.” He stopped playing with her and returned to her heat. “Come for me, my hearts,” he begged and kissed her.

With several quick flicks of his fingers against her clit, Rose cried out again. Her orgasm had her digging her heels into the bedding and her back arching off the bed.

She opened for him, tongue sliding against his, body open and ready for his, her love and passion and everything a blinding pulse of brilliance along their bond. He’d never have enough of her.

“I can’t let you go,” the Doctor admitted as his tongue delved into her. The sound of her breath catching on his name was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“I don’t know how to. I need you safe but I need you beside me. I need your hand in mine.”

Rose cried out again as another orgasm crashed through her. The Doctor didn’t let up. Her pleasure was all that mattered. Her pleasure and her passion and her love and Rose Tyler.

“I’ve lost everyone,” he whispered and slipped his fingers into her, short hard thrusts, palm against her clit and oh, she sounded beautiful when her breath caught like that. When she opened her eyes to watch him and they were cloudy and heavy with lust. When she told him how much she loved him.

When he was all she remembered. Knew. Loved.

“I don’t know how much of what I lost I cared about and how much I regret what was necessary.” The words were faster now, harsher. Harder. Desperate.

“I love you. I love you.” The words tumbled off his tongue and it felt as if part of his soul merged with hers with every admission.

Rose cried out again and tried to twist away from his touch. So sensitive now, he knew and slowly withdrew his hand. Bending her knees, he gently touched her. She jerked and bucked against his touch; whimpered and begged. Not too much, then, not yet.

“I can’t lose you, Rose. You’re the one person I can’t lose, my hearts. If I did.” His voice hitched on a sob of emotion he didn’t know how to voice as he slid into her heat.

“I can’t,” he swore. Begged. “I can’t lose you. I can’t. I can’t lose you. I love you, Rose. I need you too much. So much. I need you safe. My hearts. My Rose.”

He made love to her gently, then, slipped easily inside her. A perfect fit. Despite the desperation pounding through him and the fear and the panic, he touched her reverently, the most precious being in his entire universe. He leaned over her, pressed his forehead to hers, their bond bright and hot and vivid as it flared between them.

Rose shattered beneath him once more, shuddering and trembling and crying his name. His true name.

It didn’t take him long to follow her, his thrusts hard and fast and with their bond wrapping around him, it only took the Doctor a few more thrusts before he emptied himself into her welcoming body. All he is and all he was and all he hoped to be and all he knew he could be with Rose by his side.

“I love you,” he whispered against her mouth as he eventually slipped out of her. “I love you, Rose.”

“Love you,” she gasped, struggling for breath as he untied her wrists. “I love you, Doctor. My Doctor.”

“Always, my hearts.”

He moved only enough to lay his head on her stomach and wrap his arms around her waist. Her arms dropped heavily until her hands rested on the back of his head. Usually Rose played her fingers through his hair, but now she simply touched him. A surge of masculine pride rushed through him at the knowledge she was too sated to do more.

Rose fell asleep, and he let her rest, his body just happy to touch hers. The Doctor shut his eyes, breath evening out, but sleep refused to come. His mind whirled and tried to remind him of all the reasons starting an affair with Rose had been a bad idea. Of the sacrifice his life had been and was and would be. Of the choice he always made, had to make, would make.

The good of the many versus the good of the one and so on. That Rokenban, J’or’as’n, as he begged them to fix their weather machine—and then how he’d looked as the Doctor started to walk away.

He’d been ready to let an entire world decay because they’d threatened Rose.

Then his hearts reminded him why loving Rose had been the best idea in his very, very long lives. The love and the understanding and the hope she gave him. Reminded him of. How she stopped him.

Made him a better man.

The Doctor lay there, listening to Rose’s body sleep—the steady thump of her heart and the gentleness of her breathing and the rushing of her blood through her veins. He lay there and listened and held her and let go.

A single tear splashed on her belly and he moved just enough to wipe it away, to rub it into her skin. 

“Doctor?” she asked hours later.

Her fingers brushed through his hair now, nails just scraping the nape of his neck. She stretched slightly beneath him, but the Doctor didn’t release his hold on her.

“What’s wrong?” Rose asked, voice soft and tired.

_Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s perfect. Right here, right now, with my body pressed to yours, everything is absolutely perfect._

“I’m Sir Robert,” he admitted, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

Most of the anger and frustration and blinding rage dissipated with their joining and he sighed against the softness of her belly, pressing his lips against her skin to stop his confession-fear-revelation.

“Who?” Rose asked, lifting her head from the pillow to look down at him.

“Sir Robert MacLeish of Torchwood,” he elaborated in a hollow voice, reluctantly meeting her gaze. “I’m Sir Robert. He let those monks into his castle because they threatened his wife. He allowed Queen Victoria, his sovereign whom he was sworn to protect, nearly get killed by that werewolf to protect his wife.”

“Doctor—” Rose began then held him closer, her hands in his hair, along his shoulders, holding him tight.

“I’m Sir Robert, Rose,” he said and moved just enough to lean on one hand to see her better. Still touching, he had to touch her. _Had to._ “I’m Sir Robert,” he repeated, harsh and ruthless, the words abrasive in his throat. “And I don’t care who or what dies if it means keeping you safe.”

Her eyes widened and her breath caught, but her hands still touched him, still stroked through his hair and down his back. Gentle and soft and tender. “You fixed the Rokenban’s machine.”

She didn’t add—didn’t have to—that it was only because of her that he’d done so. That he’d been on the brink of walking away. That he’d been ready to leave them with a broken machine on a planet with wildly unpredictable weather in a civilization that wasn’t prepared to handle such change.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What else happened there? What did you do to the Guardians?”

“I fixed the machine, but I was prepared to simply walk away,” he admitted in a short, unsympathetic voice. “They can survived just fine, it’s only a weather moderator, but I was willing to let them die if it meant—” he pressed his lips tight together.

“When I was…over there, on the other side,” Rose said quietly as if they’d only been separated by an ocean not a Void. “Pete had a quote he kept on his desk. _We pretend to be strong because we are weak._ ” She took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to pretend, Doctor. Not with me. Never with me.” Rose paused and said in a softer voice, “ _You_ taught me to do what you feel is right. A better life, a better way of living. Helping others. That’s what I learned from you. And—”

Her voice caught and she took in a deep breath, slowly releasing it. When she spoke again, her voice was thick. “I don’t want to be the cause of you not doing the right thing. Of you walking away because of me. I _never_ want to be the cause of others’ deaths.”

“No.” He scrambled to sit up, frantic at her words. “Rose, no!”

““Doctor.” She kneeled before him and pulled him close once again. Wrapped her arms around him in a tight, and all too quick, hug. When she eased back, her hands remained in his but her eyes were determined, her face set. Her voice calm and decisive. “I can’t— _I refuse_ —to be the cause of you not doing what’s right!”

“I don’t do well when someone threatens you,” he admitted against her throat.

Do well? Perhaps a small understatement. Tiny really. The Doctor clearly remembered doors kicked in, beings threatened, promises of vengeance.

Rose snorted softly at his teensy little understatement and tightened her grip around him. She moved until they once more lay on the bed, his head on her belly, arms around her. “What did you do to the Guardians?” she repeated.

“They were using the weather to claim it was a sign from the gods. No tribute? No rain for your province.”

“How,” Rose asked bewildered, “did you discover that?”

“J’or’as’n.” He grimaced at his treatment of the boy, but plowed on. “He’d come to plead his case, beg for the Guardian’s intervention with the gods for good weather for their province.”

“Why…” Rose trailed off and licked her lips. Her hand cupped his chin and she looked down her body at him. “Knowing that, why did you still refuse J’or’as’n’s request?”

“I can’t lose you, Rose.” He told her. Broken and damaged. “ _I can’t._ ”

Rose nodded. She didn’t say anything more about him never losing her, about always being there. Instead she scooted down until they lay side by side and wrapped herself around him. The Doctor breathed her in and the band constricting his chest eased and it was home and love and Rose and maybe, just maybe, they could have that forever together.

“Tell me about them,” she said.

Surprised, he raised his head and opened his eyes. He didn’t have to ask who she meant. They rarely talked about who he traveled with in the past, even after meeting Sarah Jane or after Rose’s return when they actually made it a point to visit Sarah—and Martha’s family, and Alistair and Doris, and Jo. And the ever expanding list of former companions and friends he’d made on Earth.

“It was a long time ago,” he said, hedging.

But part of him, that space between his hearts where he remembered everyone and where they looked exactly as they had when they left—or he left—burst. The Doctor sucked in a thick breath and cleared his throat.

It didn’t help and the words, those words of panic and grief and selfishness and loneliness and anguish once more threatened to choke him.

Rose licked her lips, and he watched the movement. He thought she’d ask him about Susan—they’d talked about her once. Just once. When he’d confessed, so long after they’d started traveling together and so long after sleeping together, that he’d had a family.

“About your time on Earth,” she said instead, surprising him once again.

That space between his hearts warmed and spread. The Doctor always thought of this feeling as _Rose_ but now he wondered if she just reminded him of what it felt to _feel_. Friendship and love and hope and happiness. Not to run from everything and everyone and to stay. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

The words came in spurts and stops, but he told her of Jamie and Zoe. And the High Council’s policy of non-interference which he’d broken. “Only once or twice, Rose! Maybe. But it certainly didn’t warrant regeneration!”

Rose had laughed, as he’d meant her to, but hugged him closer and pressed her lips once to each heart. The Time Lords had effectively murdered him, and his wife’s understanding and compassion and embrace made even that long ago bitterness and anger ease.

“Of course you do everything to protect us, Doctor,” Rose said after he trailed off. “You always protect the ones you love. It’s who you are—it’s what people do for the ones they love.”

Her fingers traced the tattoos on his arm, the whirls and swirls and numeric letters of their joined names. Her leg slipped up his more, bringing their hips together as she kissed him softly.

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t do what’s right. I know you and you would.” She took a deep breath but smiled. “It doesn’t mean sending me away, but if we really are going to start a family, we have to take a long look at keeping us all safe.” She paused for just a heartbeat. “And knowing that keeping us safe, keeping _me_ safe, isn’t always possible.”

“Rose—I can’t…even the idea of someone trying…” he broke off and shook his head.

The words were there, clogged in his throat. The Doctor was afraid that if he let them out, he’d explode. Rage and hatred and anger built within him over even an imagined threat to his not-yet children. And panic. It threatened to suffocate him.

“I know,” she said and smiled at him. “I know. But you have to do what you can, help where _we_ can,” she corrected with a significant look he didn’t miss. “We’ll have to teach our children how to do that, too. To do what they can to help.”

His breath caught and his hand slipped between them to her flat stomach, easily imagining what she’d look like, body heavy and round with his child. It sent such a surge of happiness and longing through him, it rendered him speechless.

“I won’t take unnecessary chances,” Rose promised. “Not now, not when I’m pregnant, not when we have children. But I _will_ do everything in my power to protect you,” she swore and the Doctor heard the vow clear through him.

“And you can’t, either, you can’t take unnecessary chances. But you have to help. You chose the name _Doctor_ for a reason. To help. You can’t not help because of me. I won’t let you. Besides,” her voice changed, hard and harsh and desperate, “I can’t lose you, either, Doctor.”

He kissed her. Swallowing her words as his own and kissed her, sweeping his tongue against hers and holding her close-closer. Slowly, with fingertips as gentle as the wind, he made love to her. Heard her cries of his name and made them his own, too.

“I love you,” he promised her with every thrust. “I love you, Rose. My hearts. I love you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas—never quite what the guidebooks tell you. (one small NSFW moment)

“Ten?” The Doctor asked. He danced around the console, purposely brushing against her as they initiated the landing sequence.

Rose swore she heard a very hopeful note in his voice. That hope did something to her, a shuddering clenching joy; a deep-seated desire to give him that; a paralyzing fear.

 _“Ten?!”_ she repeated in what she hoped was not a screeching fish wife tone. They landed with a soft shudder and he pulled her to him, kissed her quickly before walking towards the TARDIS doors.

Rose swallowed, helped him shrug on his coat, took a deep breath, and tried again in a slightly more reasonable voice. “You want _ten_?”

“Well,” he said, tugging his ear and glancing down at her. He grinned as they stepped outside and lifted her hand to his lips. “Eight?”

“And just how long is this pregnancy going to last?” Rose demanded.

Except it came out a little more breathless than demanding. Her fingers closed over his and she let him tug her forward, through the decorated market stalls and the freshly fallen snow.

“Oh…” but he trailed off and his free hand rubbed the back of his neck somewhat awkwardly. Rose narrowed her eyes. “I’m…I’m not exactly entirely certain. There’s never actually _been_ a Gallifreyan-Human pregnancy.”

He smiled down at her, a soft look in his eyes, the fingers of one hand brushed along her cheek. “You’ll be the first, Rose. _We’ll_ be the first.” Then he grinned widely again. “At a very minimum,” he said confidently, “you’ll be pregnant for nine months.”

Rose scowled up at him as they walked through Victorian London at Christmas. Children raced around them, laughing and throwing snowballs at each other while vendors called out their wares. Fresh snow fell around them and crunched beneath her boots. She missed dressing up and wandering through the past with the Doctor.

They’d agreed to stop hiding, agreed that their lives weren’t meant to be lived in the Vortex or solely on the TARDIS. They agreed to stop running. Or at least only run headlong into things…together.

This was their life— _their future_ —and she’d be damned if they were going to hide from it.

“Maybe we should start with one child,” Rose offered. “Take some notes; see how long the pregnancy lasts. Changes to my body, development of the baby, all that.”

More importantly how long her pregnancy would last.

“Ohh, notes, yes.” The Doctor nodded and she could see the eager tangent his brain took off on. He was so adorable in his science geek mode.

“We’ll have to start almost immediately, as soon as we conceive,” he went on. “Maybe even before. Maybe as soon as we get back to the TARDIS!” He was nodding enthusiastically, free hand running though his hair in scientific excitement.

God he was endearing, all energetic geek and happiness. Rose’s heart flipped in her chest at the sight and swelled with love. She leaned her head on his shoulder as he went on about blood levels and oxygen and food supplements.

She loved this man. More than words could ever express. With his wild tangents and enthusiasm for science and testing and even with his penchant for finding trouble in the most inane settings. She’d not change one moment of their life together—not one single second of it.

This was it, then, their future. And she was happier than she ever thought possible.

“I’ll need to do blood work at least every other day,” he continued. “And measurements, I’m sure I have an imager I can use to measure the child daily. Not to mention you.”

A wave of lust-need-want caressed her through their bond and Rose knew exactly how he wanted to measure her body. She looked up at him, winked at his leer, and pressed closer.

“Will that help you figure out how long I’ll be pregnant?” Rose asked, interrupting him. Her hand drifted over her belly as she tried to envision it round and heavy, and she frowned. “Or how big I’ll get?”

“Oh, yes. Definitely. Well, probably,” the Doctor trailed off. “Maybe?” he offered far more uncertainly than she’d have preferred. “Definitely maybe,” he offered slightly more confidently. “But it’ll help me chart the baby’s growth, brain development, and such.”

He led her down an alley and drew her to him. His mouth was soft and gentle on hers, his coat wrapped around them, his long fingers cool on her chilled cheeks. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you, Rose. To you or our babe.”

Ever.

He didn’t say it. Didn’t need to. Rose understood and kissed him back, just as gently, just as filled with promise.

“I know,” she whispered.

“All eight of our children,” he added with one of those goofy grins she loved so much.

“Three?” she countered, laughing.

“Seven?” he bartered, lips back on hers. “I like seven. Seven is a good number. Nice and prime-y. A happy prime! Can’t go wrong with a nice happy prime number, Rose!”

“So is three,” Rose offered, hands slipping beneath his suit jacket. She nuzzled his neck, tongue flicking along the skin to taste him. She hummed contentedly and breathed him in.

“Three isn’t a happy prime,” the Doctor said, dipping down to kiss her again; lips trailing along her jaw and lazily down her throat. “It’s just prime. All girls.”

Surprised, Rose pulled back. “All of them?”

“Each of the five,” he said, lips languid on hers as if they were in the TARDIS, alone, making love as if they had nothing else to do. Not in an alley in historic London during Christmas. “All with your eyes and your smile.”

Rose’s smile grew. She raked her hands through his hair. “With your hair? I quite like your hair.”

“Hmm, maybe,” he groaned at her touch and jerked against her. She felt his hardness even through the layers of her burgundy dress and moaned.

“What about a boy?” she asked against his mouth.

“Maybe number six.”

“Six isn’t prime, happy or otherwise!”

But then he was kissing her, hands cradling her face, insistent and desperate and passionate. So passionate—it buzzed across their bond in brilliant blues and silvers and love. Real and tangible and even though he didn’t say it all the time, Rose felt his love.

Knew it.  
Had always known it.

_“Doctor!”_

They broke apart and stared at each other, stunned. Rose blinked and dropped her hands from beneath his shirt where she’d dug her nails into his skin. 

“Who do we know here?” she asked, breathless.

“Let’s go find out!” He took her hand, brushed his lips over the back of it and grinned, that happy exhilarated grin. “Allons-y, Rose Tyler!”

Had she heard him say that since her return? Wondered suddenly if he’d used it while they’d been parted. She’d have to ask him. But then they were running and there was a new Doctor who didn’t know her, didn’t even know this Doctor, and in addition to that mystery, another mystery.

And cybermen.

Rose could’ve gone the rest of her life without seeing another cyberman. Let alone that gigantic King of all Cybermen spaceship thingy. That, frankly, was utterly terrifying.

 ********  
“Rose,” the Doctor panted and shifted her legs higher around his waist. “Rose,” he said again and pounded deeper into her warm wetness.

Her nails scraped down his back and dug into his bare arse and she shuddered against him, her orgasm close, so close. He felt it in the way she clenched his cock, scented it in the air. Tasted it on her skin. They hadn’t made it to their bed, hadn’t even fully undressed.

The Doctor had barely made it through Christmas dinner at the tavern with Jackson, Rosita, and little Frederick. To those we lost, indeed.

_(His head had pounded with alternate visions of Rose—lost. Of family and friends scattered to the four winds. Of alone and loneliness and isolation.)_

The instant they’d piloted the TARDIS into the Vortex, he’d pressed her against the corridor wall and kissed her—tasted her life and her vibrancy and hadn’t been able to stop. Desperate fingers bunched the skirt of her authentic Victorian dress around her hips and desperate hands ripped the bodice of her gown over her breasts for his mouth to taste her and his senses to drown in her.

Her teeth sank into his skin and he jerked hard into her. Harder with every thrust, deeper. Unable to hold back—unwilling to.

“Doctor!” she cried out, climax shuddering through her in wave after wave of brilliant oranges and golds and love. It burst along their bond, so beautiful, so Rose.

All his.

He continued to move, his thrusts uneven as his own climax crashed through him. The Doctor shouted her name as he came, all his barriers down, utterly open to Rose. For Rose.

His knees buckled, and he leaned heavily against her. Tried to even his breathing ad his racing hearts and tried to regain his senses but all he could think of was Rose and all he knew was Rose and all he cared about was that she was safe and against him and alive and there.

“Wall sex,” he finally managed, lips moving against her neck. “Not as easy as it sounds.”

He wanted to make a joke about evil beneath the Thames or how history tended to forget the unexplainable, making it a footnote in newspapers and for conspiracy theorists.

The words caught in his throat.

Instead, he breathed into her shoulder, breathed in her scent and felt a little of the tension ease from around his hearts. Not bothering to stop himself, he licked the column of her neck. Just to reassure his senses she was so gloriously alive and in his arms.

“I’m here,” she said, framing his face and kissing him, soft and gentle and loving. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

“I know,” the Doctor told her. But the words didn’t ease the fear and helplessness that gripped him with steel bands. “I know my hearts. I know.”

The feel of her, so alive, so warm and _Rose_ barely indented his fear when she’d refused to go with Jackson to the parkland and safety. When she’d glared at him and calmly climbed into Jackson’s TARDIS-hot air balloon beside Jed who looked at the pair of them as if they were madder than the maddest inmates in Bedlam.

Neither of them had disagreed.

When she’d taken his hand and told him point blank, “We’re doing this together, Doctor. Always together.”

And when he’d, terrified and yet unutterably joyous to have her by his side, had choked out the vows he’d said in the privacy of their room, “As your husband, I vow to you that I shall protect you from all harm; that I shall love and respect you and hold you in the highest esteem. I shall embrace you until the end.”

What the Doctor had wanted was to latch onto _protect you from all harm_ , but Rose had raised an eyebrow, squeezed his hand.

 _“Together.”_ She repeated as if it was the only word in the universe that mattered.

(It wasn’t. _Rose_ was the most important word. The Doctor let it slide. Because Rose was right: They were together.)

And off they went, into the balloon and toward the Cyberking.

The Doctor knew he had gray hairs from that experience.

“You can’t blame yourself,” Rose said and pulled back just enough to see him.

The Doctor held her gaze and eventually nodded. But she didn’t believe him any more than he believed himself.

“What others do isn’t your fault or responsibility. It’s not your choice. It was hers. Mercy Hartigan chose her path.” She cupped his face and brought their foreheads gently together. “We all do in the end.”

“I know,” he said again, almost believing it this time.

“If…” she trailed off but her gaze remained steady. “If something happens,” she started again, words slow and quiet. “And we’re separated again…whatever the reason, however it happens. Don’t.”

She licked her lips and tried to smile. It wobbled for a heartbeat then firmed.

“Don’t give up. Don’t try and pretend you’re someone else. This is the man I fell in love with.” 

He couldn’t breathe and his hearts ached and he wanted to stop her words as if stopping them could stop their inevitable truth.

“You’re a good man, Doctor; a man who continues on. Who fights for a better world. A better universe.”

“Rose.”

Her hand cupped the back of his head and a single tear fell down her cheek. “You have to be there for our children.”

Then she smiled, that brilliant grin that opened his hearts and made everything brighter. “All five of our children; and our grandchildren. Don’t think I’m leaving you anytime soon!”

Rose’s lips were gentle against his, a soft press that tasted of her and love and forgiveness. Of hope and tomorrow and a future. Their future.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“And I, you.” She pulled back and grinned, tongue peaking between her lips. “Come on. Let’s take a bath. Then we’ll float in the Vortex for a bit. Just the two of us.”

Which they had been for some time already. This had been their first stop to a place he hadn’t begged his TARDIS to take them to—a safe, calm place where no one could possible harm Rose. A way, Rose had reasoned, to stop hiding.

But it was safe there. Just the two of them. The two of them and talk of their family and Rose in his arms and he didn’t think he needed anything else.

He was even learning to forego milk just so they didn’t have to stop by Earth.

Though it made baking harder on Rose. Still. Life was all about adaptation.

The Doctor slipped out of her and slowly lowered Rose onto the floor. She sighed, smiled up at him and tugged on his tie.

“Come, Time Lord. Show me how much you love me.”

Hastily tugging his pants and brown pinstripe trousers from where they pooled at his ankles, the Doctor followed her quite willingly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of loops and ripples and dreams, oh my. (I swore I posted chapter 6 but no, don't see it here. Might be losing my mind. Double chapters today then!)

Rose woke, gasping for breath.

She’d been on a planet, she didn’t know what the name was or if it had a name. Or if the name had been wiped from history. Bleak and barren and desolate, it hurt to breathe; she couldn’t see anything and with each blink of her eyes they watered more—stinging and painful.

Oppression weighed down on her chest, pushing, pushing, pushing, until a cry ripped from her throat. But she couldn’t hear herself, not over the sound of howling wind and the mournful wails of the dead. And still it continued, choking her.

But no.

She was on the TARDIS.  
She was alone in their bed; Winston curled up at her feet now looking at her, his concerned purr echoing around the silent room. He stretched and walked daintily over the covers to her lap where he settled back in.

The soothing thrum of the ship pushed back the isolation and terror, and she took deep breaths of clean, fresh air.

Rose’s fingers dug into Winston and she absently stroked his side, letting his purr ease her as much as the TARDIS’s thrumming. Her mind started to clear and her breathing eased just enough for her to breathe deeply—fill her lungs with fresh air, not the choking-clinging-grasping stench of her dream.

Her bond with the Doctor buzzed frantically, but before she had the chance to reassure him, their bedroom door slammed opened and he raced inside. Hair sticking up in all directions, eyes wild, he looked around the room quickly before settling that desperate-frantic-terrified gaze on her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling on the bed as he examined her.

His hands ran down her bare arms, fingers pressed into her marriage tattoos then up to her temples, and Rose felt the barest brush of his mind against hers. Warm and comforting and desperately frantic but soothing all the same.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

He sighed, not in complete relief, but in something almost close, and sat onto the bed. His lean, strong arms wrapped around her and Rose rested against him. She breathed in his scent, the smell of breakfast and Doctor, and felt the tension dissolve just a little more. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he leaned back and looked down at her, eyes dark and afraid.

“What happened?” he asked, voice tight.

She could still taste the fear—her fear—in the back of her throat and the sand and dirt and hopeless desolation and she didn’t want to know what else swirled in that air on a planet she knew she’d never been.

But it’d felt real, so terrifyingly real.

“A dream,” she said, throat still tight. Rose swallowed hard, fingers pressed into his side. “Just a dream.”

“Rose,” he said, the thread of fear so clear in his voice, hands tightening on her. “I felt your terror in the kitchen. I thought something somehow managed to get in the TARDIS. It wasn’t just a dream.”

“I was on a planet,” she began and tried to tell him in a detached, report-like voice what she’d seen. Dreamt of. As if she gave her report to Torchwood.

As she spoke, the Doctor’s hands tightened around her and he pulled her closer, closer still. Finishing what she could remember, Rose leaned back and met his stormy gaze.

“You don’t think it’s a dream.” It wasn’t a question.

“Neither do you,” he pointed out.

“No.” Rose shook her head and rested her forehead against the crook of his neck. Breathed him in. “But I don’t know what it was.”

“Have you had these sorts of dreams before?” he asked, voice rougher than the forced lightness of his question.

She opened her mouth to say no then stopped. “When we were on Broad Oak,” she said slowly, those dreams suddenly clearer than they had been even after she’d woke.

“I didn’t tell you, because, well…” she shrugged. “You were John Harkness and John wouldn’t have understood.”

The Doctor hummed in the back of his throat but didn’t contradict her. He didn’t agree, either, which made Rose wonder what other things he remembered about being John and hiding from those energy-sucking aliens and Torchwood and pretending to be human.

“I had dreams as John,” he reminded her.

“You thought they were fantastical imaginings based on too many radio plays and comic strips,” she reminded him. Leaning back to look at him, she smiled.

“Hmm,” he said again and offered a ghost of a smile.

And then Rose remembered he’d dreamt of a school and Martha, then again of losing her—telling Jack she’d been trapped. Lost. Of his dreams about the Master. Of the Master living again at the end of time and stealing the TARDIS to destroy Earth.

“What were your dreams like then?” he asked quietly, still holding her tight. “When we were there?”

Rose shrugged and sighed. “Using the cannon to find you. Again and again and again. I’m sure it was my subconscious trying to see that you as John were the same as you as the Doctor.”

“Hmm, yes. But,” he said slowly. “What if it wasn’t? Oh,” he squeezed her slightly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sure your subconscious was trying to rectify the Doctor and John, but what if it was more?”

Rose pulled back and really looked at him. He looked calmer now than when he’d raced into the bedroom, not much, but he didn’t have that desperate-distress clinging to him. The terror that something had somehow ripped her from the TARDIS.

His fingers still pressed into her arm harder than normal and the look in his gaze held a wildness she normally only saw when they were running for their lives. Not for fun.

“Like your Time Ripples?”

He nodded slowly. “Maybe. I can’t explain them, and the TARDIS scans reveal nothing. Or nothing she’s sharing.”

“You think they’re alternate timelines?” she demanded, already seeing where he was headed.

The surprise on his face did little to make her feel better, even if it was immediately overcome by pride and a wide grin.

“Rose Tyler, my genius,” he said with a wide grin. But then he sobered. “Maybe. Or maybe just the power of suggestion.” The Doctor shrugged and sighed, one hand rubbing down his face. “I don’t know.”

“It bothers you.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, softly, almost silently.

But Rose hadn’t been thinking about her jumps or their time in Broad Oak. She’d been thinking about the Robenkins and nearly leaving them without the promised help and what the Doctor had said to J’or’as’n. What he’d told her afterward, after they’d made love and he’d held her tight and the shaking fear for her had lessened.

I’m Sir Robert. And I don’t care who or what dies if it means keeping you safe.

And she’d been thinking about Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister. And the Doctor’s decision to take down her government with 6 simple words. And whether or not she agreed with it. At the time she thought she had, fresh off a better life and a better way of doing things and realizing the Doctor was the same man, Rose had thought she’d taken the high road of nonviolence.

But she’d seen too much in the years between. Now, Rose wasn’t so sure.

“If they are Time Ripples,” she said in a tone that conveyed that she thought that’s what they were no matter what he said otherwise. “Then what’s changed? You never had them before, have you?”

She waited while he shook his head, though she knew the answer was negative. “Then what’s changed between me returning…oh.”

“It’s not that,” the Doctor said instantly—harshly and with certainty and finality.

As if he’d fight the universe on that.

He settled on the bed again and pulled her against him. He sighed into her hair and held her closer. Fingers on bare skin, bond burning brightly with love and need and hope and clawing fear. And them.

The Doctor breathed her in and held her close and Rose didn’t want to move, either. Didn’t want to tempt fate or the universe or anything else that may or may not be tempted.

She was perfectly content to stay right where they were and raise a family—their family—in the isolation of the Vortex. As impractical as that may be.

“Then is it Jack?” Rose asked, because the question had to be asked and she had to be the one to voice it.

And the guilt she carried for bringing him back wrong sent a twinge through her stomach, twisting and clenching it and choking her with the heavy burden she carried no matter what Jack said.

“No,” the Doctor said, slower this time. “He’s still wrong, but that’s a…more of him standing still in the flow of time than moving with it wrongness than being able to cause these time overlaps.”

Rose swallowed and nodded against the Doctor’s chest. Breathed him in and pressed closer-tighter-nearer to her lover. “Will they stop?”

He pulled back sharply and looked at her. She saw the instant her question set off a dozen theories—that Time Lord brain racing a hundred kilometers an hour. Rose offered a small smile at that, and rested her head back on his chest, the dual beats of his hearts soothing despite the tension in his body. In hers.

“You mean when we get to a certain point in time?” he asked in that rhetorical tone he often used when he talked out a problem.

“I don’t know,” he admitted slowly and shrugged, one hand fisting his hair. “I don’t know what that time is or why these Ripples are even here in the first place.”

She felt him shift and scrub his hand over his face again. “I’ve never experienced anything like this and haven’t the foggiest…”

He trailed off with a sigh, mid-sentence. Rose almost smiled; she could all but hear his thoughts continue on. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift even as the Doctor once more talked out his theories—half mumbled sentences and short huffs of breath.

“We should see if Jack and Martha are still experiencing the dreams,” the Doctor said but made no move to rise and call them. Surprised, Rose wondered if he didn’t tell her something about these ripples, but no.

Their bond burned with confusion and honesty and the Doctor trying to work this mystery out.

“We’ll have to see if anyone else is, too,” he added. “If time’s changed, anyone who’s traveled in the TARDIS should be affected.”

“Like Jo and Sarah Jane?” Rose asked, but didn’t move either. She didn’t want to leave their bed. Their bed where the Doctor’s arm wrapped tight around her and where it was safe and isolated.

“Alistair,” he added, “and Luke. I’m sure Luke’s more sensitive because of the way he was…er created.”

“What about Francine and Tish?” Rose asked.

“They only had one trip, but…little Keisha. I’m not sure; I’ve never had a human child on board. She should be fine,” he hastened to add, “no harm to her, but I don’t know what it’ll have done to how she perceives time. Still, no harm in checking.”

“I’ll call Martha,” Rose said but still made no move to rise.

“It’ll mean rejoining their time stream,” he said softly. “It’s been months for us.”

Rose wondered how many months, how long it’d been just the two of them, but didn’t ask. Part of her didn’t want to know. Part of her wanted it to be longer. Just the two of them. Part of her missed their friends and wanted to hear about Martha’s new job and what she and Jack had been up to. If anything.

Part of her just wanted to stay in the TARDIS with the Doctor and never let him go.

“All right,” she agreed. She took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I guess it’s time.”

Then she did move, just enough to look at him. Rose ran her fingers down the side of his face, along his neck. Her thumb lightly brushed over his cheek. She had so many things to tell him. How she didn’t want to leave now. How she wanted to start a family with him this minute.

In case their entire future unraveled at any second.

“I think you should talk to Harriet Jones,” was what she said.

“What?” he jerked back and stared at her in open-mouthed surprise. “Why?”

Rose licked her lips. “Because you were wrong to take down her government. You were the one who told me she was elected three successive terms and be the architect of a period known as Britain's Golden Age.”

“Rose--”

“I thought you were right,” she said quietly. “Then, after regeneration and the battle with the Sycorax and your victory, I thought you were right. But now I know how hard it is to make those decisions, Doctor.” She squeezed his hand.

Their bond flared open, not as wide-open as when they made love, but their physical contact told her he was listening. Not closing off. Or closing down.

She took a deep breath. “I know how hard it is to protect the world without you there.”

His fingers contracted tightly on her, but she didn’t utter a sound. Neither liked being reminded on their separation.

“You said you were a no second chances man.” She swallowed hard and plowed on. “But you gave me a second chance after you changed. And we…we have a second chance now.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, voice rough. He cleared his throat. “Do you want me to go back?”

“No! I…That’s the past. You can’t change it.” She grinned, and he returned the smile, a brief lifting of his lips. “Not this time,” Rose added. “I want you to talk to her.”

He nodded and Rose tried, really she did, to hide her surprise. She hadn’t expected this conversation to go so smoothly.

“All right.”

“Thank you,” she said though wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for—listening to her without condemnation or agreeing so quickly.

“Now, how about breakfast?” the Doctor asked and pulled her out of bed. “I started to make you pancakes and eggs, but well…”

“Breakfast sounds great,” she agreed, ready to start their day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were a lot of things they had to discuss about their future and the family they were trying for—names and numbers and what effect a pregnancy would have on Rose. But there were so many other things to worry about, too.  
>   
> One-shot story _[Christmas Shopping](http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=56432)_ takes place right before this chapter.  
>   
>  Messed up posting this story, somehow. So there's 6 and 7 up today!

“I am not naming all of our children Rose!” She laughed and he grinned his goofy, happy grin back at her, hearts wide open for her to see. “How would we tell any of them apart?”

It had only been a few days since Cybermen-at-Christmas and their semi-serious talk about his going on after Rose. He thought he would…rather that something in him _could_ go on after her…when she…when… _after_.

He had when he’d lost her, when she’d been trapped across the one line he truly couldn’t cross no matter how magnificent his TARDIS.

Actually, he’d run.

Far and fast and still those memories, memories of Rose and them and plans for their future and all of it. He’d run. But that was before second chances and reunions and marriages and bonding tattoos and Gallifreyan bonding pendants.

And children. Talk of a family, their family. 

The Doctor didn’t want to think about it, this future without Rose.

He’d given her her Christmas present, painstakingly thought out (no, Winston, you don’t get credit for any of that!) and retrieved from where he’d stored her things after…. And held her while she’d cried over Jackie and Mickey and the family she had and left in the other world.

Then he’d made plans with their family here, with Jack and Martha, to meet them for Christmas.

And then he’d brought their conversation back round to their children. All twelve of them, because the only thing he could think of that was better than one child with Rose was a dozen of them. He didn’t even care that twelve wasn’t a prime number.

Or ohh, a baker’s dozen! Even better. And a Happy Prime at that. Perfection.

The truth was, the Doctor still hadn’t managed to alleviate the sheer terror that gripped him every time he saw Mercy Hartigan as the CyberKing rise up with Rose _right there_. Right there next to him, stubborn and beautiful and unwilling to be parted from him no matter how foolhardy that move might be.

It brought back memories of Dalek invasions and Dalek invasions redux with Cybermen and Rose refusing to leave him either time, and the sheer blood-freezing _terror_ that gripped him each time she returned to him.

The terror and the love and the hope and the possibilities.

She’d held his hand. During the entire hearts-stopping flight in a hot air balloon she’d held his hand and reminded him that he wasn’t alone. That this was their life now, together, and she’d stand beside him. Always.

That he had the very best reason to live standing beside him.

He didn’t fool her, the Doctor knew that. He hadn’t fooled her since before the first time they’d made love in the kitchen (after a spectacular argument over fear and longing and him running away and Rose refusing to let him.) Where Jack had walked in on them as he had Rose’s trousers around her ankles and her legs around his hips and she begged him in that breathy voice he so loved.

“And what if it’s a boy?” she demanded now as she slowly circled the console.

Her eyes sparkled and danced as she trailed her fingertips over his ship, tongue peeking out between her lips. She knew that drove him crazy. 

“Humans and their gender-specific names. But if you want, Rose can be his middle name,” he promised, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth in consideration for a moment as he followed her around the Time Rotor. Then he nodded.

Yeah. A boy with her name? He had absolutely no problem with that.

“Why Rose?” she asked, still walking around the center, still watching him carefully, with a hint of seduction darkening her eyes. But then her voice lowered, softened. “What about Susan?”

His hearts skipped a beat.

“Susan?” The Doctor swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Rose Susan? All right.” He cleared his throat again and sucked in a deep breath, gaze on hers, hearts so full of love for this woman he forgot how to speak for a moment. “Yeah.”

“Why not a Gallifreyan name?” Rose asked gently.

The small smile on her face let him know their first born would bear the name Susan and the Doctor wondered if (hoped) his granddaughter would like that.

The Doctor stopped and let Rose catch up with him. He pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her and just held her. His chin rested atop her head and he breathed her in; felt each breath she took; didn’t want to move from there.

“I don’t want a Gallifreyan name,” he quietly admitted. “I want all of our children—seven or twelve or three—to have your name.”

“Why not?” She asked softly. “Why not part of both their heritages?”

“Gallifrey…” he stopped, swallowed. Hand in hers; her understanding flowed over him as warm as her love. “This isn’t about the past,” he continued in a harsh whisper. “It’s about our future. And our children’s futures.”

“Well, seven is a Happy Prime,” she told him in a light voice designed to break the heaviness that enveloped them.

But she didn’t move for a long, long moment. Then she pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her hands tightened on his arms, just around his marriage tattoos, and she patiently waited until he looked down at her.

“There are plenty of names in the universe,” she said softly. “What’s so special about mine?”

( _But your heart grows cold. The north wind blows and carries down the distant…Rose._ Before she’d returned to him, before she’d found him again. _Oh, big mistake. Because that name keeps me fighting!_ It was the only thing that did then. Even with Martha beside him, Rose kept him sane— _what would Rose do?_ had become his mantra.)

“It’s the only name in the universe that keeps me sane,” he confessed.

Rose’s breath caught and suddenly her fingers were tangled in his hair and her mouth was pressed to his. “Doctor,” she breathed, a hint of tears in her voice.

“I’m an old, selfish man, Rose,” he said, the words choked and his chest tight. “I want to keep you wrapped safely in my arms but my arms are the least safe place in the universe. I need your hand in mine because that connection keeps me grounded. I don’t deserve you; and I sure as hell don’t know what I did to make you love me. To make you stay with me.”

He took a deep breath and said deliberately, honest and open and heart in his throat and in his words. “I love you, Rose. So much it scares me. So much I can’t imagine who’d I be.” Mad and dangerous and second chances? He’d probably be dead already, without her. “What I’d be—” Broken and alone and though I might have other companions they’d never be the same—“without you.”

Her breath caught and he saw the sheen of tears in her brandy-colored eyes. Her hand splayed between his hearts warm on his chest even through two layers of shirts. “I love you, too, my Doctor. But I’m not having twelve—”

The TARDIS jerked violently and spun about. Panicked, worse not knowing what was happening, the Doctor held Rose tight until the shaking stopped. When it did, the TARDIS halted as abruptly as She started to shake.

“What happened?” Rose asked.

He looked around the console and shrugged, a slow movement of his shoulders as he carefully withdrew his arms from around his wife. “I don’t know.”

There was something niggling at the back of his brain. An itch.

The Doctor ran a hand down Rose’s back, silently asked her if she was all right. When she nodded, he carefully set her on the jump seat. He didn’t like not knowing. He liked it even less when Rose was potentially in danger.

He absolutely hated it when Rose was potentially in danger from something he didn’t know on his ship. The safest place in the universe. Supposedly.

_(He’d have to install baby seats. Baby proof his ship. And a seatbelt harness for Rose while she was pregnant. Update the desktop? Make it less grate and more pillowy? Was that the TARDIS laughing at him?)_

And then there was a past version of himself and a slight problem with their TARDIS being merged together and Rose trying not to giggle. The Doctor didn’t think his previous body saw Rose, which was odd since that body was on his TARDIS and not merely a hologram or projection with a limited focus.

Just as well.

No sense in adding in a memory of his future wife. He hadn’t believed he deserved happiness then, with this cricket-loving, celery-wearing self. _(He still didn’t deserve Rose or happiness with her, frankly.)_

He _certainly_ hadn’t deserved her love and compassion and hand-in-his before the War, let alone after it with his blood soaked hands and soul. If he’d retained that memory through the Time War, he’d have run as far and as fast from Rose as possible.

“Where are you now? Nyssa and Tegan? Cybermen and Mara and Time Lords in funny hats and the Master?”

The Master…a cold shudder froze him clear through to his hearts and he sought out Rose’s gaze—sharp and understanding and warm and comforting.

( _I’m begging you. Everything’s changed! It’s only the two of us! We’re the only ones left! Just let me in!_ The dream shuddered through him. Another Time Ripple. He didn’t want to think about an alternate timeline with the Master returned. The Time Ripples were coming more frequently and it scared him.)

No, the Master was gone, long before the Time War destroyed everything. His oldest friend and greatest enemy.

But cybermen…some creatures never died.

Maybe that was his punishment for genocide. Being haunted by the creatures he’d once vowed to protect the universe from.

“All my love to long ago,” he told his other body.

All my love to those we’ve lost _(Jackson’s words haunted him and he sought out Rose once more)._

When the previous him faded, he turned to Rose. Her gaze was heavy with compassion and though she hadn’t said anything while the other Doctor had been there, she stood now.

“I always knew you wore your glasses because of the sexy factor,” she said, her words a quiet joke.

“Sexy factor?” he repeated, folding her into his embrace. Breathed her in again. Each time, every time, just to assuage his senses that she was still with him and safe. As safe as she could be with him.

“You were quite handsome,” she said instead, combing her fingers through his hair. “Sexy specs and all. Was that…” she trailed off and swallowed hard. “Was that just before the War?”

“No.” He looked up at the TARDIS ceiling and exhaled loudly. “No, but it was just after cybermen.”

“Maybe the TARDIS is trying to tell us something,” Rose said, laying her head on his chest, arms tight around him.

He hoped to God, whichever one listened to broken Time Lords who only wanted a quiet life, the TARDIS wasn’t trying to tell them there was a new cybermen invasion. The Doctor didn’t think he’d be able to handle another one just yet.

Able to handle Rose not safe and next to him and holding his hand (the touch of her skin on his steadied him as nothing else ever had) and running into danger with him. With him. Instead he leaned down and kissed her.

For no other reason than she was his wife and he could and kissing Rose Tyler was on his _Top Ten List of Things He Never Wanted to Stop Doing. Ever._

That was when the giant ship crashed through the TARDIS exterior hull.

Naturally.

Maybe he should’ve raised those shields first.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas redux, or why no one was surprised the Doctor and Rose were in the spaceship falling to Earth, because who else would it be up there?

“Forget it,” Rose said flatly. She crossed her arms over the bodice of her once-lovely deep blue gown, now dirty, bloody, ripped, and utterly unusable.

Damn. She liked this gown. Made her feel sexy, like she was at one of Pete’s Vitex parties again—though the one she’d agreed to attend had bored her to death. Still, it was nice dressing up and going out with the Doctor.

“It’s the engines, sir,” Midshipman Frame said, rather apologetically, over the comm. “Final phase. There’s nothing more I can do. We’ve got only eight minutes left.”

Maybe not a date, given their previous experiences. Considering today had started as a fun date they’d laughed about when they’d first walked out of the TARDIS. Right up until they’d beamed down to empty London streets.

“Rose,” the Doctor said, that desperate-pleading-terrified look on his face. _“Please.”_

“I made you a promise,” she said softly. “I promised to stand by your side and hold your hand. I promised to run with you into whatever we found. Together.” Rose squeezed his hand and poured all the love and affection and need and emotion and _future_ she felt for him through their bond.

“You’re a daft man if you think I’m going to let you go off on your own.”

She could see the arguments in his eyes—the fear that what they had could so easily be ripped away. That the family they were even now trying for would never happen. Rose ran her thumb over the wedding ring he wore, the physical reminder that they were together in every sense of the word.

He pulled her roughly to him, mouth hard on hers. It was fast and desperate. “I need you safe, don’t you understand that?”

“I need you safe, too, Doctor,” she told him fierce and angry and terrified he’d do something stupid and brave and get himself killed.

His hearts beat too fast beneath her touch and they were running out of time.

“Rose, please,” he begged. “I won’t do anything stupid.” He pulled back and grinned, too-fast, too-thin, too-brief. It made her stomach flip.

“But I need you safe.” He took a deep breath and added, “And I need you to help Midshipman Frame with the engines.” He grimaced and did that half-shrugging thing he did when he was making everything up as he went along.

“And possibly call Martha and Jack.”

Damn. They’d talked about that just after returning from their brief jaunt to London with Astrid as yet another stowaway, but then things went crazy. Crazier than normal.

“If you’re harmed, Doctor,” she threatened, “even if you regenerate, you’ll regret it. I’ll find you, I’ll hunt you down, and you _will regret it_. Understood?”

He swallowed and his smile nearly overcame the fear in his gaze. “I promise. But I have to find out what’s going on on Deck 31, who’d behind this and why. And stop it.”

“Does it matter?” she demanded, all too aware of time ticking away.

“Yes.” He sighed and added softly, “I have to give them a chance.” 

Rose hated that. Right now all she wanted was to keep him safe, to save the Titanic, get them out of here with no more loss of life, and hold him tight to her. Instead, she yanked him forward by the lapels of his (somewhat unlucky) tux.

“Come back to me,” she told him.

The Doctor pressed his forehead to hers. “Always, my hearts.”

The climb to the bridge did nothing to help her dress. But at least she was alone, no one to slow her down or talk to her. Astrid had wanted to join her, but Rose had declined, insisting she needed to keep the remaining passengers safe, find anyone else who might be alive, and protect everyone from the Hosts.

The last thing Rose needed was small talk as her stomach clenched in knots over their situation and the Doctor and just how the hell they were going to get out of this one without any more deaths.

How London was going to get out of it.

“Midshipman Frame?” Rose called through the duct.

“Ma’am?” he called weakly and between the two of them they managed to unscrew the air duct so she could climb out.

Oh God, he was just a kid! And shot! Pure, hot anger rushed through her—how could anyone do this to so many innocents on the ship, let alone on Earth? Let alone to a young, brave sailor currently bleeding out as he tried to save the ship, those passengers left, and the planet?

“What’s your first name, Midshipman?” she asked even as she pressed a piece of her town dress to his side. “And I need to make a call.”

She wanted to examine him further, do something more. Though she hated it, her first priority was to stop the Titanic from crashing into her planet.

“Alonso,” he offered, voice fading.

Her stomach flipped at the name and a memory from a lifetime ago made her fingers shake. _Then I can say allon-sy Alonso!_ Rose didn’t know if it was already too late for Alonso Frame or not but quickly dialed.

“Rose!” Martha shouted into the phone. “Where are you?”

“In the spaceship about to crash into Earth,” Rose said in a rush.

“Jack and I figured,” she said but there was a thread of panic beneath the laugh. In the background Rose heard shouts and orders being thrown around. “UNIT tracked a ship in orbit and who else would be up there?”

“It’s called the Titanic,” Rose said, mostly because she knew Martha’d understand the irony.

“What idiot called a ship that? Hey—” Martha swore then asked, “Rose, Jack wants to know where the Doctor is.” 

“Trying to figure out why we’re about to crash,” she said and stood before the controls. “Who’s behind it all. I’m on the bridge.” Rose turned to Alonso and asked, “Is there any way I can plug my phone into some sort of hands-free device?”

He looked at her like she was mad, which wasn’t too far off given their situation, then nodded. Struggling to his feet, Alonso unlatched a panel and pulled out a cable. It took precious seconds of finagling until they managed to plug in one of the cables to the phone and Martha’s voice came over the bridge’s loudspeakers.

“What kind of engines are they?” Jacks asked, his voice tinny but confident over the speakers.

Rose turned to Alonso who now leaned weakly on the console. “Nuclear,” he gasped. “Nuclear storm engines.”

Jack swore, very loudly and very colorfully and Rose’s already knotted stomach swooped in fear. Jack wasn’t one to panic.

“The Doctor already had Midshipman Frame loop it into the core,” she said.

“Yes,” Alonso gasped, voice threadbare. “He told me to fire up the engine containment field and feed it back into the core. But we’ve only six minutes left.”

“Rose, you’re going to have to nosedive the ship into the atmosphere,” Jack said in a rush that did not help her faith in this plan one damn bit. “Then when the engines reengage, pull up.”

“Jack,” she said doubtfully, already standing at the wheel. “If this doesn’t work—”

“We’ll evacuate London best we can,” Martha said.

“Hello!” The Doctor called from right behind her.

Rose spun, saw he was alive and no more worse for wear than he had been when she’d left him, and yanked him to her by the ends of his bowtie and kissed him hard.

“We’re gonna crash into London,” she said as he stood beside her and took the wheel.

“Then I’m just in time, aren’t I,” he said with a cocky grin that didn’t hide his anger and grief. He looked at Alonso who was leaning heavily on the computer console. “Ah, Midshipman Frame! Nice to finally meet you.”

“Uh, yes. And uh, and you, Doctor.”

“Doctor!” Jack’s voice came over the loudspeakers.

“I’ve got it, Jack.”

“You better make it for Christmas dinner,” Martha ordered before the line went dead.

“We’ll be there,” Rose promised. And hoped it wasn’t a lie. “Doctor, I’d like you to meet Midshipman Alonso Frame 

“Alonso!” the Doctor repeated enthusiastically and pushed the wheel forward. They tilted sharply downward, into Earth’s atmosphere. Rose said a quick prayer, though she didn’t know who she prayed to.

_Please let us get out of this alive, in one piece, and without further loss of life._

“Oh,” the Doctor said with a grin that just barely covered his franticness. “You’re kidding! That’s something else I’ve always wanted to say.” He spun the wheel, held out his hand to her, and said, “Allons-y, Alonso. Whoa!”

“Get Jack and Martha back on the line,” he said grimly. “Tell them to evacuate Buckingham.”

“What? Oh, of course!” Rose said even as she redialed their friends.

Later, after dropping off Mr. Cooper to live his life in London, and holding the Doctor close as he told her of Astrid and what she’d done, Rose stripped off her ruined gown and tossed it in the rubbish bin. She looked at the bin but didn’t bother opening the lid. The dress was long gone.

Where did their trash go? She’d wondered before, usually after tossing out an item of clothing that hadn’t survived an adventure. She had no answer and when she’d asked the Doctor, he’d shrugged, blue eyes unconcerned, and went back to his repairs.

“I’m not sure how much more Christmas I can take,” she sighed.

“We can wait a bit,” he said, coming around the bed to hold her. “I have the time and date, obviously. We can float in the Vortex a little while longer.”

“No,” she said, holding him tighter. She’d almost lost him today. They’d almost lost each other. “Let’s go have Christmas dinner with our family.” 

********  
“Happy Christmas!” Martha hugged Rose tight. “Where’s the Doctor?” she asked as she stepped back from her friend. She made a point of looking around but they both knew there was no TARDIS. Rose had arrived via taxi.

It’d been four months since they’d seen each other, not counting their earlier conversation with Rose on the Titanic and she and Jack on Earth doing damage control. Still, Martha had a feeling it was a lot longer than that for Rose and the Doctor. She didn’t ask, wasn’t going to.

“Oh,” she said and waved a hand, looking vaguely guilty. “I sent him off on his own errand.”

Martha raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask where. Rose would tell her soon enough. She thought—they were once that close, surely a few months hadn’t changed that? Even a few however-many-more months it’d been for Rose.

“I’ll tell you later,” Rose sighed and shook her head. She looked exhausted.

Martha breathed a slight sigh of relief. Things hadn’t changed that much, then. Good. Martha considered Rose her closest friend, the only woman who understood what it was like, what all of it was like.

How she wouldn’t change a minute of her time with them.

“Tell me about UNIT!” Rose said with a gleam in her eye Martha recognized all too well.

The Avoidance Gleam (TM by the Doctor circa the beginning of time). By now, they were all experts at it, but she let Rose slide. One thing at a time.

As they walked around Francine Jones’s neighborhood on a cold Christmas afternoon, Martha did. About the medical wing and how quickly she’d climbed up the ranks once word of her vast alien medical knowledge spread.

“They did ask about the Doctor,” she confided as they walked. The December chill whipped around them, but it was a sunny, Christmas day, and they’d quite literally saved the world. Again.

That had to be cause for celebration.

“I was very specific and very clear that I didn’t know anything about his biology.” Martha took a deep breath and released some of the tension of the day.

She really wanted a nap, not Christmas dinner. Alas. Maybe some of that pain powder the Doctor had. Martha felt a headache brewing behind her right eye.

“I also said he guarded his privacy terribly and maybe let it slip that there were sections of the TARDIS his mere human companions couldn’t access.”

“Who asked about him?” Rose demanded, angry and ready to defend her husband. Martha almost smiled, but this was too serious for that.

“Some branch of UNIT,” she said. “I don’t know who or who’s in charge. They claim they’re a scientific branch, but their questions were very focused on the Doctor. I wanted to tell the Brigadier about them, but right now I have Sarah Jane looking into it. She did make a contact with a Doctor Malcolm Taylor—he seems to worship the Doctor.”

Rose relaxed and Martha eyed her critically. “You’ll let me know if anything comes of it?”

“Of course,” Martha said, a little hurt that Rose even had to ask.

“Thanks.” The other woman squeezed her hand and it was only then Martha felt the tension knotting Rose’s body lessen just the slightest.

“What’s wrong, Rose?” Martha asked—demanded.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Rose sighted and her shoulders slumped just a bit. She squeezed Martha’s hand again. When she spoke it was low and fast and full of anxiety. As if she didn’t say the words immediately, she never would.

“I just feel like everything I want is right there—I can reach out and grab it and hold it close. But I’m afraid if I do, if I reach out and touch it, everything will fall to Earth and shatter into a hundred thousand pieces.”

“What happened?” Martha demanded and led her back to her mum’s.

They’d chosen here because it was far enough away from Rose’s old place and from UNIT, from everyone they could possibly meet. Here they could talk and it’d just be the two of them. They could have Christmas dinner with family and an atmosphere that didn’t involve alien invasions.

Because they’d already stopped that today, thank you very much.

Sarah Jane and Luke would arrive later, Alistair and Doris planned to stop by as well, and Jack, of course. Martha hadn’t quite got round to telling Rose about them. She wasn’t sure what to say.

Francine, Tish, and Shonara were making dinner. Martha had promised to help, but saving the world from a crashing spaceship took first priority. It was something her family was still trying to come to terms with, even if they better understood what she did and why.

As they walked around the block on Christmas Day, it was almost, Martha thought now, as if they were back on Broad Oak and wandering about the land while trying to plan how to stop a Nazi invasion, keep their respective lovers safe, and not destroy the world.

“I don’t know. Lots. Nothing new.” Rose shrugged again. “We went to this planet, the Ood Sphere, and they were slaves, humans basically lobotomized them for slaves, but it reminded me of when we first met the ood.”

“On that planet,” Martha remembered as they walked back to the house. “Under the black hole.”

“Yeah.”

Rose didn’t say anything further—didn’t have to. She didn’t have to say anything about the beast and the so-called prophecy and dying in battle. They’d had a lot of time to talk in 1936 Broad Oak, a lot of time to share stories and pasts and fears.

Martha sucked in a deep breath of the cold, misty day. “And you think that now with everything right where you want it, with your life and you two ready for a family, and disgustingly happy I might add, you think it’s going to fall apart. That one of you will die.”

“Yeah,” Rose whispered. 

Then she took in a deep breath and said stronger, “I sent the Doctor off to apologize to Harriet Jones. I don’t know if what he did was right or not, two Christmas’s ago, but I think he changed the entirety of Earth’s future in taking down her government.”

“What brought all this on?” Martha asked, her mum’s front door coming into view. And Jack’s UNIT issued SUV.

She swallowed and steered Rose back up the street.

“We’ve stopped putting it off,” Rose said with a smile as she took Martha’s hand again. “We’re not using any form of birth control, Time Lord or not.”

Martha had no words, but the huge smile that broke over her face no doubt said it all. “I’ll need to talk to the Doctor,” she started, already hugging Rose despite her friend not being pregnant. Not yet at least.

“I have a couple ideas for keeping your nutrients balanced and want to run them by him. Plus I think it’ll be a good idea for everyone to carry an emergency kit—extra scanners, nutrient bars, the whole lot.”

Emergency sonics for whoever traveled with the couple; a modified Vortex Manipulator device to jump Rose back to the TARDIS just in case of _extreme_ danger; a remote control _for_ the TARDIS for a quick getaway—which wasn’t a bad idea in general as far as Martha was concerned.

“You sound just like him!” Rose laughed and something in the way she said it, not just the words, warmed Martha.

Not because Martha wanted to follow in the Doctor’s footsteps, but because she admired what he did if not always how he went about it. She admired his work and his dedication and his willingness to help.

And she’d worked hard to dedicate her life to those same principles, even if that was here on Earth and not running about the universe.

“Come on,” Martha said and tugged Rose along. “Jack’s here.”

“Jack?” Rose’s eyebrows shot upwards. 

“We’re trying again,” Martha admitted slowly. “Going to see if we’re worth fighting for.” She took a deep breath. “Or if we’re simply meant to be friends—the very best of friends but nothing more.”

“Just how long has it been since we’ve seen each other?” Rose asked with a knowing smile.

“Long enough for me to decide a second chance isn’t all about saving the world,” Martha said, a little surprised those words had come from her mouth.

Maybe she really had decided to give this relationship a fighting chance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love~The Passionate Shepherd to His Love~by Christopher Marlowe

“You have a hand.”

Rose stared at the jar the Doctor carried as he stepped out of the TARDIS. Eyes flitting from her lover, and his two perfectly working hands, then to the jar, and back again. “In a jar.”

Jack snickered at her right; Martha stared opened mouth at left. The rest of the Jones’s were still in the house, having learned that if they didn’t want to be a part of an alien problem, then staying away from the foursome was the smart thing to do.

Rose had never been so grateful for their need to enjoy a quiet Christmas than as she was at this moment. Standing in front of Francine’s house in the middle of a perfectly ordinary street with her lover carrying a hand in a jar.

“Yup!” he grinned widely.

As if this was an everyday occurrence.

Rose had traveled with him for years. This was not an everyday occurrence. Even for the Doctor.

“Why?”

“To preserve it, of course!” he said as if it should be obvious.

“Why do you have a hand in a jar?” she clarified, only slightly annoyed at his obliviousness.

“It’s my hand.” He grinned again and held it out as if she wanted to inspect it.

Rose stepped forward, somehow drawn to do just that when his words suddenly made sense.

“Your hand.” She blinked up at him. “From Christmas?”

“Yup!” He tilted the jar and looked critically at the bubbling substance around the hand. “Harriet found it after the battle and, well despite… everything” One hand found his ear and tugged. “She kept it. Didn’t want anyone else to find it.”

Rose wanted to ask why he hadn’t thought about that. He’d told her often enough his body was a scientist’s dream. (She’d teased him over it, naked body pressed to his.) But she didn’t ask, instead Rose found herself nodding as if this was normal. The new normal she supposed.

“And how is Harriet?” she asked, a little wary of the answer.

“Oh, fine. Not angry,” the Doctor said and he sounded surprised. Then he looked to her left and ginned. “Martha!”

And just like that Rose found herself with an armful of hand-in-a-jar and her husband hugging Martha. Whatever happened between the Doctor and Harriet Jones, it had ended well at least.

And there was something to be said for that.

She’d ask him about it later, clearly he didn’t want to talk about it now, not even in front of their closest friends. Or maybe not on Christmas.

Rose was fine with that. He’d tell her later. She knew he would. And without her prying the words from him, too. They’d come a long way from the days of dropping the proverbial verbal bomb and hoping to hide behind the explosion.

The Doctor would tell her everything that happened. And they’d plan their next step afterwards.

 ********  
It didn’t come much more domestic than this, the Doctor thought after Christmas dinner, and after presents, and after kissing his wife under the mistletoe.

After chasing little Keisha around and promising her another trip to the pink planet in his magical singing box, and after wondering what his daughter (all right or son, he was flexible) would ask to see first. And second.

And on the one hundredth trip in their magical singing blue box.

And if Christmas was a time for reflection and forgiveness, Harriet Jones had taught him thing or two about that as well.

Rose’s laugh echoed from the living room where the women had converged, leaving the men to do the dishes. He didn’t really mind, not if Rose’s laughter continued to echo throughout the house.

Any time previous to meeting Rose and he’d be running.

Not just from dishes, (the one positive thing about those Gallifreyan food wafers was their lack of cleanup.) He’d run from keeping friends. From sharing such an intimate part of himself.

He doubted the Jones’ men understood. Knew Jack did.

Understood the clawing fear of staying. The icy trepidation of watching. The plain old cowardness of knowing he’d far, far outlive all of them. And their children and grandchildren.

Had Jack children of his own? The Doctor only now realized, as he looked over the dining room for any stray glasses or dishes, that he’d never asked. Room cleared of all cutlery, he turned to see Jack loading the dishwasher with military precision.

No. He wouldn’t. The two of them had plenty of time for such conversations. Literally. Right now he wanted to see Rose. Find her as well as hear her. Tell her of Harriet’s surprising forgiveness. Of the words she’d said about chances and doing what was right. Not just what he said was right.

Of the honest happiness Harriet had for he and Rose when he’d told her Rose had returned to him. How she’d openly mourned Rose and Jackie’s deaths at Canary Wharf. How she’d worked with UNIT in the aftermath to clean up Torchwood’s mess and gather the alien artifacts that had survived his destruction of the tower.

And his promise to her. The same vow he gave Rose every time they touched. Every time they made love.

He’d live up to his chosen name of _Doctor_. He’d be a better man. One who helped and healed.

But he wouldn’t tell her just now. Now Rose’s laughter warmed his hearts and the Doctor knew they’d made the right choice is staying. In enjoying Christmas with the Jones’. Even Clive had made it for dinner, though he and Francine hadn’t exactly reconciled. Didn’t snip at each other with every word, but it was clear they’d never fully reunite.

“What’s that deep thought look on your face?” Jack asked, slamming the dish washer closed and starting its first run.

“We’re having a baby.” That wasn’t what the Doctor had intended to say. He hadn’t intended to say anything.

Jack’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Not yet,” he said softer now, listening to the conversation from the other room. About every day life.

Would Rose want that? Would she want to stay on Earth to raise their child? Children. No, no she’d always said she wanted to raise any children they had on the TARDIS. But he’d ask her.

No more assumptions.

“Humans are compatible with aliens?” Leo asked from the sink.

The Doctor just looked at him like he dribbled on his shirt. He held up his hands in mock surrender. Suds dripping from his fingers, he shook his head and plunged them back into the water.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Leo protested. “I’m still getting used to this whole alien thing. Traveling to another planet is one thing. Always wanted to go to Mars. Babies?” He shook his head. “Something else.”

“Humans are compatible with just about every species in the universe,” Jack said with a grin. A wide grin at the Doctor. “Very flexible, we humans.”

Leo nodded and went back to carefully washing the good crystal. The Doctor, much to his astonishment, grabbed a towel and began drying. He’d offered to clean the crystal with his sonic. Francine had glared at him with a glare worthy of Jackie.

“Having Keisha was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Leo said after a moment. “Dirty nappies, middle of the night feedings and vomit, all of it.” He looked over at the Doctor. “Wouldn’t change a minute of it.”

Choked with emotion he couldn’t express to the men in the kitchen, the Doctor only nodded.

They were going to have a baby!

********   
_Dear Doctor,_

_I know what you’re doing. I know you’re running—all your fears you still won’t talk to me about. You’re afraid of time and pain and loss. The curse of the Time Lords, you once said. I don’t think it’s outliving those you love, not any more._

_I think it’s remembering._

_Remembering every single thing you’ve ever done and said and saw. Every person you’ve spoken to and loved._

_I let you get away with it, the running. The coddling and keeping us in the TARDIS. Because I survived 3 years without you and we have a lot to make up for. Because I had those same fears. Don’t think I don’t; don’t think you’re alone in this. You are never alone._

_There’s me. Always._

_Of the three Christmases we’ve just celebrated (even if two separate incidents were the same day) I like the time we spent with family the best. And seeing Martha and Jack again…we’re not doing this._

_No. We’re not. We’re going to stop running. Or hiding. Or both. And we’re going to start this family and we’re going to make sure our children know their family._

_We’ll raise our children on the TARDIS but we will never, ever forget those we love. You hear me? Never. We’re doing this, Doctor. And I’m so ready to begin one more chapter in our lives. Together._

_All my love. Always.  
_  
 ********  
Rose added the letter to the small ornately carved wooden box she’d found in one of the (many) storage rooms on the TARDIS. It was the perfect size to keep her neatly folded letters to the Doctor in chronological order for…later.

Closing the lid, she set the box back in her desk drawer, far in the back. The desk was in her sitting area, an lavish wood construct that reminded her more of something out of Buckingham than the Powell Estates. Along the bookshelves were photos she’d taken on different planets, some of friends they’d made there, some of her or of her and the Doctor.

Both her Doctors.

And then there was the wall of the four of them, her and the Doctor and Martha and Jack. Rose smiled at those and traced her fingers along the edges of the frames. Another for their family—not their adventures, but just them. Her photo albums, including the ones from her mum’s flat that Doctor had given her for Christmas sat neatly on the shelves alongside the Christmas they’d celebrated, just the two of them.

She’d need another photo album. One for their children.

The Doctor never went through her personal things, not that Rose knew of at least, but it was best she kept her letters a secret for as long as possible.

When he read the letters meant for him, Rose wanted it to be centuries away. Not days.

She took a deep breath and turned sharply on her heel. Photos and letters and frames were for another day. Today was for finishing this up. Or at least getting it out into the open and making him discuss his fears.

Only today she’d not have to pull the information from him. He’d promised an open and honest talk about Harriet. She planned to make him stick to that. 

Open and honest and running toward their future. Not away from their fears.

Together.


End file.
